Cliffhanger
by Merisha
Summary: When a hunt goes completely wrong, a distraught John has to come to the rescue of his boys. Mulitple POV’s. Hurt!Sam/Dean. Rated T for language. Hurray for Season 4!
1. Chapter 1

**'Cliffhanger'**

**Chapter 1**

**Synopsis: **When a hunt goes completely wrong, a distraught John has to come to the rescue of his boys.

**Notes:** Thanks as always to my wonderful beta's Phoebe and Amarintha who brush through my musings with a fine tooth comb and make it all pretty and presentable. This first chapter is in honor of the Season 4 premiere this Thursday, just 2 more sleeps … Woo Hoo! It was initially going to be a Hurt/Sammy story only (which I've been promising) … but the Hurt/Dean plot bunnies got hold of it as well … blame them … I'm just the vessel ;0)

**Warning:** Language. I'm using the F word … _probably Phoebe's influence ROFL_ … but I think it's necessary under the circumstance ;0)

**Cliffhanger Artwork:** Please check out my homepage for the link to the beautiful banner that nargynargy made for Cliffhanger :)

**Dean's POV**

* * *

"OW! SHIT! SONAVABITCH!"

This is so not good. My stomach churns. Dad is seriously going to kick my ass … well … only if I can get us out of this mess.

"_Look after your brother Dean … keep an eye out for Sammy … don't disappoint me!"_

"_Yessir ... you know I will!"_

My shoulder wrenches in its socket ... god … I think I've dislocated it. I bite down on my lip, ignoring the white hot pain flaring up one arm as I try to grip onto the cold and slippery rock surface beneath me with the other. Shit! Shit! Shit!! Someone please explain, how is it that things always go from 'worse' to 'you-gotta-be-shitting-me' in the blink of an eye? Sometimes I wonder at the mysterious workings of the universe. I swear it has to be some sort of mass frickin' conspiracy, either that, or Sammy and I are totally frickin' cursed! There's just no way one family can have this much bad luck!

"DEAN!"

"I've got you, I've got you …"

Take now for example. I'm clinging for all I'm worth with one hand clamped onto my little brother's arm while he hangs over the edge of a cliff … just another ordinary frickin' day in the life of a Winchester. I'm lying flat on my stomach at a very hazardous-to-your-health angle. He's looking up at me with terrified eyes, body swinging dangerously as I hold on with superhuman strength. I grunt as he swings, twisting wildly, while his other hand moves up to grasp onto my outstretched arm. He's trying to get some leverage but the rock face is icy, and his foot keeps slipping. The full weight of his body pulls on my shoulder again as he hangs in free space, making me shout out in pain. He looks up apologetically as he continues to try and pull himself up, worry etched in every line on his face.

We're both sweating heavily from the effort … shit … I hate mountains … and cliffs … but mostly camping, I really hate camping! Probably the thin, cold mountain air, which is making it almost impossible for me to breathe, even without the added pressure of holding onto Sammy …

I had to dive halfway down this sloping incline, sliding the rest of the way, before I thankfully caught Sammy's arm just as he went over the side, inches ahead of me. I can feel the uncomfortable sting of the beginnings of a massive bruise along my side, even though we're both wearing well padded winter jackets.

"Dean … I can't hold on …"

God, he's looking at me with defeat, he thinks he's going to die.

"Yes you can Sammy … you hold on damnit … I'll pull you up!"

I grunt again as I start inching myself backwards slowly, my calf and thigh muscles burning painfully as I overexert them. I can do this! I can do this! The sharp angle of the smooth rock I'm lying on, the fresh snowfall, and that uncooperative thing called gravity, are working overtime against me.

"A little help … Sam …"

I huff, ignoring the agony each tugging movement is causing my shoulder. He tries to get a footing again, his sweat slick hands clinging to my jacket sleeve while I keep a firm grip on his right arm. I watch as he struggles to get traction, but years of wind erosion and ice have left their mark on the rock face. He slips again, I yell again … but I don't release my hold.

He swings freely, the ground far below hidden by outcropping ledges and tall trees. The sudden hopelessness in his eyes makes me want to scream out loud, not in pain, but in sheer frustration. Come on! Give us a damn break**,** will ya? I glance up pleadingly at the sky, looking for something, anything … nothing. The quick looks Sam keeps throwing my way … shit … I know what he's thinking. He's going to try and convince me, try somehow to save me … sacrifice himself … but I cling to him more desperately with every ounce of strength I have, adrenalin and fear coursing through my tired body.

The words I'm expecting, the words I refuse to ever accept, still make me sick to my stomach … they're words I never wanted to hear from Sammy's mouth.

"Dean … please … let me go."

I grunt loudly as I try to get more leverage of my own, feeling myself slipping again ...

"No way dude … not in a million years!"

"Dean?"

Shit, he's using that tone of voice … and suddenly I'm furious … he's pleading with me, he's giving up … but I won't let him …

"NO SAM! JUST NO!"

I shut my eyes for a brief second, trying to focus past the anger and fear.

"You hold on … I'll pull you up … please for the love of god … just hang on."

Where the hell is dad when I need him? He went off in a different direction, up the mountainside, and into the dense forest somewhere, but Sammy and I were the ones who found the frickin' Wendigo. After three gawdawfully long days of camping out here in the cold wilderness. Hell, I even killed the smelly thing with a flick of lighter fluid and a match, saw it go up in flames, but not before it managed to throw Sammy with incredible force, sliding him down the slope, and nearly over this frickin' cliff. The memory makes my stomach flip again. Shit … If I could just get a steady hold somewhere, I could probably reach that 'borrowed' satellite phone Dad insisted we take with us on the hunt. It's in my jacket pocket.

"_Storm's coming boys … need to be able to keep in touch in case there's an emergency."_

Yeah, well thanks a mill dad, forgot to mention a little something about how the hell I should contact you in an emergency when both my hands are full. Shit!

"Dean … it's okay …"

I give Sammy a warning look. Damnit, I'm going to kick his scrawny ass when we get off this mountain! Doesn't he understand? It's not okay … I can't … I won't lose him …

I slip a few inches forward again, everything from my waist up hanging over the edge of the cliff, but my grip remains firm and steady … muscles I didn't know I had are cramping with the effort. Shit … it's happening … this is it … there's no way I can get enough leverage to pull Sammy up … he knows it … I know it. The truth bites like a bitch. Didn't in a million years imagine it would all end like this, dying on some frickin' mountain. Sammy shakes his head, silently begging me to save myself … I swallow hard … knowing what I have to do. It's my job … to protect Sammy … just that one job … what my life has always been about, I have no real regrets, none that I'll admit to myself … well, present situation excluded.

The seconds tick by … I know the inevitable is about to happen, I'm slipping which means that Sammy's going to let go of my arm … I can see the resignation on his face, but he's underestimating me, he doesn't know how far I'll go … what I'll do, what I'll sacrifice. My hand becomes an unbreakable vise and I try to ignore the agony threatening to break that precious hold, doing the only thing I can to distract myself under the circumstances … I make a list …

One completely dead Wendigo … check.

One completely pissed off Dad when he eventually finds our sorry asses … check.

One completely fucked up situation … check.

Sammy's writhing frantically now, starting to claw at my fingers in panic, trying to loosen my grip as he battles to squirm loose.

I still manage to smile down at him calmly, even though I'm terrified … never been so scared in my whole life ...

"It's okay Sammy, I've got you … I'm not going to let you go …"

"No Dean … please …"

I can see the shock in his expression, the denial as I reach out, releasing my hold on the cliff, on the one thing that could've saved my life … grabbing onto him instead with both hands … knowing without a doubt that if I can't save him … then I can't save myself. I slip the last few inches, clinging to him with a death-like grip as gravity finally wins and we both slip over the edge.

Everything moves in slow motion, just like in the movies. It would be really cool, if I weren't on the verge of freaking out right now. Sammy's distorted yell of denial echoes around us.

"Noooooooooooo!"

It's still a seriously weird sensation though, but not completely unfamiliar. Been in similar deadly situations before, got the bloody t-shirts to prove it … okay, nothing quiet as bad as this, but damn close. Both my arms have somehow wrapped around Sammy's waist, and I've managed to twist myself into a pretzel, but I got myself between Sam and whatever it is we hit first. Just a last ditch, and completely hopeless effort to miraculously save my little brother somehow, anyhow.

The wind is whistling madly around us as we fall and I'm surprised to find I have a moment to admire the scenery, removing myself from the reality of the situation. So this is where it all ends … in 'gods' country … the white capped mountains and the fir trees in the distance … not at the clutches of the demons … I snort at the irony.

… it takes another moment to look into Sammy's childlike face, tears falling down his cheeks in sparkling droplets. His eyes are wider than I've ever seen them, full of fear, regret, anger, sadness … and love. I try to smile at him reassuringly, knowing how completely pathetic I am for trying.

I think about Dad … yeah, he's definitely going to tear me a new one for this stunt and I grin at that stupid thought. But my life doesn't flash before my eyes, not like I've heard people say it does, it's just Sammy and me in the moment. Sammy … he's been my whole life.

At least we're going out together.

That thought is what follows me the rest of the way down, a peaceful warmth settling over me as we turn slowly in midair. It feels like we're falling forever, but it's probably only a few seconds … time suddenly has no meaning. I'm looking at the brilliantly bright sky above, Sammy and I embracing, a final hug, a final goodbye … before the harsh, bone crunching impact turns the beautiful blue to impenetrable black.

_**TBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

"Cliffhanger"

**Chapter 2**

**Notes:** Okay, so here's Chapter 2, not such a long wait, but only because I want to post it on the same day as the "Season 4 Premiere" hears drum-rolls in background – It is going to be the best season ever! (are you seeing a pattern here? Do I seem a little obsessed?) ROFL. Next chapter will be up next week Thursday and then every Thursday after that … unless I'm threatened … it is called 'Cliffhanger' after all ;0)

For those of you who are wondering … this is set somewhere before Sam goes to college, so Sam is about 18, Dean 22.

Thanks as always to my beta's Phoebe and Amarintha who manage to calm me down when I'm having one of my panic attacks … writing fanfic is nerve wrecking damnit LOL ;0) – And to everyone who's read, fav'd, alerted and reviewed … you guys rock! (excuse the pun)

**Warning:** Language … still 'fudging' away … it's fun actually ROFL ;0)

**Dean's POV**

* * *

The incessant ringing pulls me from deep sleep.

"Jus … five more … minutes …"

I take a shallow breath, feeling strangely detached from my body. Can barely hear my own voice … the ringing doesn't stop though … frickin' alarm clocks.

Cold.

Shit it's freezing ... and I'm tired … crap, I'm seriously exhausted … must've been a rough night. A heaviness pushes on my chest … feels like someone's lying over me.

Damnit Sammy …

"Get your … own bed … Sasquatch!"

Breathless. Oh god … headache … starting to pound behind closed eyes … I seriously need a Tylenol.

Need to move … get up … that's what I need.

OWMOTHERFUCKER! My eyes fly open and then instantly shut again. Okay, okay … not such a good idea to move.

The sudden onslaught of pain brings instant awareness as I bite back the urge to scream at the top of my lungs. But that's gonna hurt. Instead I groan loudly, my nose flaring as I take slow, steadying breaths. Something shifts inside my chest … SONOVABITCH! … that's unpleasant … and to make matters worse my body starts shaking involuntarily, sending more ripples of little agonies through every cell … just frickin' peachy!

Okay breathe … just need to breathe … ahhh … shit!

What the hell happened? I try to focus, slowly opening my heavy eyelids again … vision's all blurry, fading in and out. I'm looking up … at a metallic grey sky, soft white flakes drifting down towards me. Strange frickin' ceiling. What hellhole did we book into this time? Can taste the sickly, coppery tang of blood pooling at the back of my throat. I frown, pulling my face in disgust as I'm forced to swallow. Blood? I fight the sudden urge to gag. Something wet behind my throbbing head … probably more blood … not a good sign. Okay, so I'm not in Kansas anymore. I tentatively move my hand … cold surface … mountain … then panic … heartbeat races … falling, I remember falling … Sammy?

"Sammy?"

Ow! Ow! Okay … move slowly dumbass …

"Sammy!"

My voice croaks as I carefully turn my head to look at him. Oh god! Oh god! He's lying next to me … my body still half wrapped around his. From what I can see we're so close to the edge that just a small shove could send us both plummeting down the cliff again. I swallow uncomfortably as I try to look around and get my bearings. I can't see much, can barely move, but I guess we landed on one of those ledges I saw earlier, fairly wide by the looks of things, but right on the edge. I almost laugh out loud … holy crap … we actually survived that fall? Wait … Sammy … he's lying deadly still in the crook of my completely numb arm. Holding onto him like this is the only thing that's keeping him from falling.

I panic again, instinctively wanting to pull him to safety … but everything hurts, joints are stiff and aching. I'm going to be one big bruise in the morning. I try to see his face, his long hair falling loosely over his eyes, but I still notice the sticky redness splattered along his pale skin. Oh shit, this is so not good. I hold my breath, relief suddenly flooding me as I feel the soft puffs of air hitting me on my cheek … at least he's breathing, mean's he has a heartbeat … thank god … but I know we're both in the deepest kind of shit over here. We need to get out somehow …

The ringing starts again … the phone … it's still working. At least something survived the fall in one piece, but that also means I can get help. I move my hand slowly to reach into my jacket pocket, feeling the pull of bruised muscles and possibly broken ribs … I twist slightly … OW FUCK! … yup … definite broken ribs. I close my eyes, huffing through the sharp stabs as I reach for the phone again, pressing the answer button before trying to hold it near my ear with a very unsteady hand.

"Dean … where the hell have you boy's been, I've been calling you for over an hour! What did I tell you about answering the damn phone?"

"Dad …?"

"I've just left that things lair, no sign of it, just old bones and the stench of decay … I'm headed in your direction, did you find anything?"

"Dad … I …?"

"I don't need to tell you that if that thing gets away again, it's going to kill a whole lot more innocent people!"

Yeah, well no need to worry Dad …I killed it … just like you taught me.

"…we … got it!"

I feel lightheaded, the effort of saying those few words, completely taking what little breath I have away. But I have a bigger problem … Sam needs help, I need help … just need to tell Dad …

"Okay … good. Great work son … where are you … I'm on my way …"

"Dad …?"

I don't miss the irritated huff … the pang in my chest becoming more than just broken ribs.

"What?"

"Dad … Sammy …"

There's a deadly silence but it's short lived. He automatically knows when something's wrong, 'specially when it comes to Sammy. I haven't forgotten that incident with the Shtriga, a lesson I'll never forget in a hurry. His stern commands start barking across the line, I was expecting this … I almost move the phone away from ear again … my head buzzing loudly, a strange pressure somewhere in my skull, behind my eyes … I'm pretty sure my brain's coming loose from it's fittings ... feels like it wants to explode.

"What is it Dean? Where's Sam? Is he hurt? What happened? Answer me damnit … did he get hurt?"

Too many questions**,** dude … one at a time …

"Yeah … I'm sorry**,** Dad … I tried … to pull him up …"

"Oh god … oh god … Dean, how bad is it, where are you?"

His voice is rough and deep with a mixture of anger and concern. I swallow the lump in my throat, bitter tears threatening to overwhelm me …

"Fell Dad … I couldn't stop it, I tried … I held on …"

"SHIT DEAN!"

I jump slightly, cringing as the jarring movement sends more spikes of agony through my battered body. I can hear him fighting for control … oh yeah, he's so going to tear me a new one.

I think I must've blacked out for a few seconds because I realize he's been talking to me and I've missed about half of what he's said, rattling off instructions with rapid fire, so I try to concentrate … listening … knowing that what he's saying is important.

"Dean … you hear me?"

"… Yessir."

"I need you to pull yourself together okay, your brother needs you to be strong, you can't fall apart now … where is he?"

My brow furrows … what? Fall apart? He thinks I'm having some sort of nervous breakdown? Well maybe I am … but seriously**,** dude? I'd snort in amusement if I didn't think it would hurt.

"Cliff … on a ledge … we landed on a ledge."

"Cliff? He landed on a ledge? Okay, okay …"

I feel like Lassie trying to relay a message, he doesn't seem to understand ... I need to try and explain ... but I don't feel too good, my mouth just moving soundlessly. Want to just close my eyes for a little while, but his commanding voice won't let me.

"Dean … you listening?"

"Yes … sir …"

I can almost hear him running his hand through his hair irritably, probably imagining a bunch of scenarios in his head, calling on all his experience as a Marine medic.

"I think I know where you are, it's that climbing spot on the east side, right? There's a climbing path down the face of the mountain somewhere close by. Popular with hikers. It's treacherous, but it will come in handy. Make your way to your brother Dean and I'll make a pass by the campsite to get our gear … call for a rescue team."

"Yeah … but ...

"Listen to me son … you look after your brother until I get there. You get to him, but for godsake be careful … give him what first aid you can, keep him warm, everything I taught you … look after him and keep him alive! You hear me Dean, his life is in your hands … I'm on my way!"

I pull in a shaky breath in an effort to speak, if he'd just let me get a word in edgeways …

"Kay … but Dad …"

A hollow click echoes in my ear as he cuts me off. He doesn't hear my answer … I look at the phone stupidly … he cut me off ... I blink, trying to clear the haze of confusion.

Okay, guess I'll just have talk to him later.

I close my eyes, just wanting to drift back into the beckoning call of sleep, but they instantly fly open as I remember … need to keep Sammy warm … first aid … keep him alive … his life is in my hands …

I turn my head slowly once more to look over at my little brother … god … he looks like all kinds of crap. His skin is pasty … bruises crawling across his face … a mixture of his and my blood everywhere … I need to get up … need to help him …

"I won't … let you down again … Sammy ... I promise."

I lie still for another minute, trying to gather my thoughts. Okay, need to first do a quick self check. I move each appendage carefully, testing them. Right hand and wrist moving. Right arm moving. Right foot and ankle moving. Right leg moving. Left arm … not so much. Left leg … hard to tell, can't feel anything past my throbbing knee … in fact, most of my left side is completely numb, if you don't count the blinding pain in my chest every time I inhale.

I don't let that stop me though. I slowly start pulling myself, and Sammy by proxy, as I drag our asses painstakingly slowly away from the edge. Sore and bruised muscles making each movement a little taste of blinding hell. I don't know how long it takes, but I'm sweating heavily, breathing hard, and coughing up blood by the time I've moved us far enough to be at a safe distance from the edge.

It takes me a lifetime to carefully lift Sammy's head from my seriously damaged shoulder. I know it was dislocated before I fell, but something else is loose now, an educated guess telling me it's probably a broken collar bone. Can't really tell, can't move my neck enough to look down and see. I can only thank whichever gods are looking out for us today that there's no pain accompanying the unnatural angle of the bone. The same goes for my leg. My left knee is so swollen it's stretching my jeans, but there's no pain, thanks to Sam's weight numbing the area. But I'm pretty sure that when my arm and leg decide to wake up and join the party in my chest, I'm definitely going to have to pass out.

I use my good arm to sit up but can't find a comfortable position. I bite my lip, scrunching my eyes tight, as I try to compose myself. It's official … I really hate pain ... even more than rats. I shift carefully … hearing a muted squeak ... instantly on alert, scanning the area … shit wish I had my gun. I sigh in amusement, almost faint with relief when I realize it's just the heel of my boot that's made that noise … okay, maybe not more than rats. I can't help but snort at my pansy-ass-self. Sammy would rag me no end if he'd seen me right now.

My arm is trembling violently under my weight. Passing out is already starting to sound like a good plan and my consciousness weaves in and out at that thought … but I need to make sure Sam is okay first.

I manage to shrug off the 3 layers of my jacket, shirt and undershirt with careful precision, using my own stubbornness to fight off the urge to just collapse right here and leave things the way they are for Dad to handle. But Sammy needs me. I can't get them off my left arm but I pull them down as far as I can and wrap them gently around Sam, cocooning him as best I can. I'm left with my tee and thermal vest … I'm also wearing the matching thermal undies under my jeans … something I was hoping not to share with Dad or Sam … but they're so awesomely warm, something the 'boys' seriously appreciate, cause it's freezing up here at night. I grin at that thought, definitely delirious over here.

My next plan of action ends up becoming a blank stare. I blink in confusion. I'm in shock, body wants to shut down. Need to concentrate. Need to check Sam for damage. He needs my help, I need to keep him alive. It becomes my mantra as I tear a piece of my shirt with my teeth. I use it as a compression over the sluggishly bleeding head wound behind Sammy's head. I cringe as I feel the huge egg shape bump there. The whole side of his face a mass of swelling bruises. His right eye already swollen shut from the trauma of the impact. The thought makes me ill and I find myself praying …for Sammy, for his life. I don't really believe … but now, it just somehow seems like the right thing to do.

"Hmmm …"

Hope warms my trembling body as I watch his eyes moving slightly behind closed lids.

"Hey? Sammy … you with me?"

Lines of pain etch their way along his brow.

"Dhn…"

His voice is barely a whisper but the relief is instant … I'd enjoy it more if everything would stop spinning for a second.

"Yeah … it's me**,** kiddo … can you open your eyes?"

He attempts to move, the squelching, sticky sound of the blood beneath his head nearly making me throw up.

"Don't move**,** Sammy … stay still … can you do that … for me?"

"Kay …"

The rattling in his chest as he exhales is matching the sound coming from my own. God, I hope someone comes to rescue us soon … I hate hospitals, but I'd love to see one round about now. Sharp stabs are starting to run up my arm, the blissful numbness slowly disappearing just as I feared.

"Hey Sam … try to open your eyes … for me."

He groans, barely audible, before frowning … opening his one eye briefly before shutting it again.

"Sam … please buddy … try to look at me."

I'm huffing out each word … my own breathing becoming more labored, but he doesn't respond. My heart starts hammering in panic until I see the awkward rise and fall of his chest. He's just unconscious again … he's still alive.

It takes a moment, but I finally find the strength, a second breath in my waning energy. I roll up my shirt, and careful slip it under Sam's neck, for support and to open his airway to assist his breathing. I test his ribs, letting my sensitive fingers find any possible breaks. I try to catalogue what I know of his injuries … Dad will want that information. I continue to work methodically … blocking out everything else … a remoteness settles on me as I administer what little first aid I can to my seriously injured brother.

"DEAN … you down there?"

I jerk slightly as Dad's voice suddenly booms from somewhere above me.

"Yeah!"

It comes out so softly, I have to try again.

"YEAH!"

I cough, feeling warm blood bubbling up my throat. I quickly lean forward, half crawling, half dragging myself, before letting my head hang over the side of the ledge as I vomit. The pain is as intense as I suspected, but thankfully it doesn't last long and I watch sickly as streams of blood and what was left in my stomach, fall to the treetops below. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve, huffing as I try to compose myself. I manage to pull myself slightly upright, leaning on my good arm. I watch Dad moving with speed down a rope ladder that I didn't even notice him throwing down. He jumps onto the ledge and instantly rushes to Sammy's side.

"Sam … oh god … son?"

I suddenly feel like I'm in the way, Dad needs to check on Sam, so I slowly pull myself over to the rock face. I lean back as the world suddenly tilts. Everything's okay now … Dad's here.

But he doesn't look at me, his focus is completely on Sam … blocking out the world around him. I watch him work in silence. He's brought his rucksack, which he rifles through, pulling out the first aid kit, followed by bandages and swabs and everything else he thinks he'll need. He's fast and efficient, he starts talking to no one in particular, listing all Sam's injuries and asking me the odd yes/no questions.

"Has he stopped breathing."

"No …"

"Has he woken up at all?"

"… Yes"

"Dean, get with the program. I need you to answer my questions."

"Yessir … but…"

He quickly spares me a tentative glance over his shoulder, frowning as he looks me over.

"Dean … you okay? … you look like crap …"

He watches me worriedly, but at least he doesn't sound angry. I'm suddenly relieved … I was beginning to think he might throw a punch my way.

"… you hurt yourself?

"Yeah …"

He stops for an instant, looking at me strangely again as I tentatively hold onto my injured and now violently throbbing arm.

"Damnit**,** Dean … how bad?"

He's still not shouting, just checks Sam's pulse again, before gently brushing his bangs off his face … then he stands and moves towards me. He kneels in front of me, his hand reaching for my forehead just as I close my eyes at his deep scrutiny, suddenly embarrassed by all the attention.

"Shoulder … dislocated … and …"

"Okay, well just sit tight**,** kiddo, I'm going back up to get the rest of our gear and when I get back I'll take a look at that arm of yours. There's no way we're getting off this mountain tonight, not with that storm coming in. I spoke to one of the Rangers and he says the winds are too strong to attempt a rescue."

I shiver. Don't feel good. I'm going to be sick again. I swallow back the burning sensation threatening to make its way back up my throat.

"Besides we can't move your brother, I don't know the full extent of his injuries, and I don't think you'll be climbing out of here on your own steam either at this rate. We'll have to make camp. I'll try and get a signal up there, check that weather forecast and see when the helicopter can make it up here to fetch us."

He looks up at the darkening sky, the wind has picked up and the snow is falling in stronger drifts. I still look at him nervously … I'm pretty sure I can climb out of here and walk ... I don't need a helicopter … I lift an eyebrow in dazed confusion … okay … I think I'm losing it a bit …

"Just keep an eye on your brother, he seems stable but his breathing is kinda off … and hold your arm as still as you can, it looks bad, I won't be long."

I barely have enough energy to nod, let alone talk. My head rests against the rock behind me, while I try to relay my feelings with a look but he just nods at me instead, quickly making his way back up the rope ladder with amazing ease. I watch him disappear above me. He didn't let me finish … again … the man's on one of his missions, still a Marine through and through.

He hasn't noticed, can't see that I'm barely staying conscious, he doesn't know me, not well enough … I mean I spend every waking moment with the man, and he still doesn't know me … unshed tears sting my eyes as I swallow down my self pity.

My chest hurts like a mother, my breaths are more labored and slow … but I'm too exhausted to call after him … besides I need to watch over Sammy … that's all that matters now …

I try to move forward, needing to be close to the one person who does actually know me, but that becomes a bad idea as black spots dot my vision. I quickly lean back, taking slow, deep breaths, the numbness in my leg has also become a dull ache, frickin' marvelous. I close my eyes, hoping not to pass out just yet, I still have a job to do.

"Dean?"

Shit, I think I blacked out again … can feel the blood draining from my face as I open my eyes. I look at Dad, I need to tell him … he needs to listen this time … I seriously don't feel so good.

"Dean … you sure you're okay?"

I haven't been okay Dad …

"I … didn't …"

I try to push myself upright, a horrible sense of vertigo assaulting me as I put a steadying hand on the surface beneath me, still feeling my body toppling over. Dad is next to me in an instant, managing to stop my fall, but I yell out in agony as he grabs my broken ribs, feeling them move as he carefully positions himself half behind me and lowers me down, cradling me in his arms. The world fades out for a second as I try to remember how to breathe. He slaps my cheek as I try to focus on his face.

"Dean? … shit! What is it?"

I can see the panic in his eyes, I have to tell him something ... but I can barely think straight, trying to draw oxygen into my starving lungs …

"Dad … I didn't … I didn't, let go …"

The impact of my words finally seem to sink home, his eyes widening in shocked understanding … but I don't care anymore … just need to sleep … everything will be better when I wake up … I don't fight as my eyes roll back, the darkness pulling me under …

"Dean … look at me … please keep your eyes open son … DEAN! … DEAN!"

I try … for Dad, but I'm just too tired … his frantic shouts disappearing into the distance with my final whisper …

"… I didn't let go …"

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

'**Cliffhanger'**

**Chapter 3**

**Notes: **The threats have been flying in fast and furious … so in order to save my own hynie …here's chapter 3, earlier than the forecasted Thursday - (presses send button and hides under desk) ;0) – Next chapter from Dean's POV again, following that, Sam's POV ... who knows from there … I'll surprise myself!

Thanks guys for your awesome response to this little story, you have made me all kinds of happy (grins happily) - hope this chapter lives up to your expectations.

_(Squeeeeels … THE SEASON PREMIERE WAS BRILLIANT … shame about the new Ruby though LOL)_

Thanks also go out to my beta's Phoebe and Amarintha, they're my support team, my cheerleaders and my medication administrators LOL ;)

I know this is another shameless plug, but I need to mention that if you haven't been reading PADavis' new SN story **OBX** (Chapter 3 is already up) … you are seriously missing out! Another spectacular fic from an absolutely amazing author, she's one of my favorites! She has Sammy and Dean spot-on, and the fugly, humor, angst and hurt are outrageous in a brilliant way! Don't miss it!

**Warning:** Language

**John's POV**

* * *

"… I didn't let go …"

Those last words brushing past Dean's pale lips, whispered on a shallow breath … that knocks me harder than any punch to the gut ever could. I watch in disbelief as his unfocused eyes roll back and he suddenly becomes a dead weight in my arms.

"DEAN?"

God … what have I done … how could I have missed this.

"Dean … please … wake up …"

I shake him gently, my voice breaking, I know he can't hear me but I still need to try ... for my own sanity …

"Please son."

This can't be real … I'm losing them … I'm losing my kids …

I start trembling, the full impact of the situation making me sick … sick and furious at myself. The emotions I rarely allow myself the luxury to feel … they come forward unbidden, nearly knocking my breath away. I haven't felt like this since … since Mary died … completely helpless … that feeling of agonizing loss and heartache. I promised her I'd keep our family safe. Please god, this can't be happening … not again. I watch as a single hot tear splashes onto my boy's still face, he doesn't flinch**,** and my vision blurs as I gently brush my fingers through his short hair.

"Dean?"

Damp … my hand comes away sticky. I blink, looking at my red stained fingers stupidly … before I carefully test the area at the base of his skull, feeling the large bump, it's bleeding sluggishly, the blood running down onto the back of his black tee, hiding the evidence. He's been bleeding all this time … he's hurt badly, oh god, as badly as Sam … but he's been following my orders … like he always has, always does …

I wipe his blood on my jeans distractedly. How did he even manage to stay conscious this long? God, what have I done? Barking orders at him, expecting him to be fine because he's always fine, stronger then Sammy and I will ever be, and yet still more vulnerable … it didn't even occur to me …

His body shudders violently in my embrace as shivers wrack his helpless body. He's cold … shit he's ice cold. He's been exposed to the elements in this condition for too long … taken off most of his clothing to cover Sam … because I told him to keep Sam warm, told him to keep his brother alive … and he did, without question. Oh son … I didn't even check, I should have checked … damnit, I know better …

What kind of a father does that make me?

Shivers continue to run through his body as I move my hand to rest it on his bare stomach, under his shirt … his skin is cold, colder than my hand … first sign of the onset of hypothermia … shit …

I rub my hand across my heavily stubbled chin … thinking … I need to get him warm. Get both him and Sammy some cover. I look up at the sky again … the weather is getting worse, I need to make a shelter, that storm is going to hit hard. But I need to stabilize him first, then check on Sammy again.

That thought moves me into action. I'm not going to let some stupid rookie mistake take my sons away from me. They're all I have. I push my emotions back, years of training taking over. I need to detach myself, it's a familiar place and I do it with ease, can't be emotional right now, need to look after my boys … I won't let them die …

I carefully support Dean's neck as I shift out from behind him, lowering him down gently to the ground. I listen to the telltale signs of his labored breathing, accompanied by a sick rattling sound as I put my ear near his chest.

Blood starts pooling behind his head almost immediately, but I'm not too worried knowing that head wounds are notorious bleeders. I quickly cover the leaking wound with a compress, holding it steady, waiting for the bleeding to stop, while I reach over to pull the first aid kit closer. It's my own homemade version. I try to keep it well stocked, when I can, with things we usually need on hunts. I made a few purchases before we came on this trip, so I'm pretty sure I'll have what I need, for now.

I need to check for cuts, fractures, breaks**,** and injuries to his head, neck and spine. The same routine I just performed on Sammy. I can't risk moving them until I know for sure the full extent of their injuries.

I do a quick primary survey, assessing his airway, breathing and heart beat. His symptoms are almost identical to Sam's. Both of them are in a serious condition, shock causing the standard clammy, cold skin, accompanied by a weak and rapid pulse. I know from personal experience that cold and pain will only intensify the effects of shock so I need to work fast.

The wind suddenly shifts and my gaze travels up, to the darkening clouds … seeing the top of the cliff … god … they fell from up there … how are they even alive?

Dean suddenly starts coughing**,** and I quickly move forward to assist him as he makes a gagging sound. I manage to lift him up just as he vomits. The blood dripping from his lips and staining his teeth nearly makes my heart stop. He's hemorrhaging. I wait for him to catch his breath, but he doesn't regain consciousness. I use a swab to wipe his mouth, my heart pounding in my chest as I lay him down again, carefully lifting his tee, eyes widening at the mottled array of dark bruises snaking around his torso. I begin prodding his chest and stomach, my brow furrowing in worry as I continue to examine him. Distended abdomen, rigid to the touch, internal bleeding… god … he needs to get to a hospital now. I run my fingers through my hair in agitation, knowing that we won't get help, at least not until morning … and only if the storm clears up enough for them to risk it.

I push down the panic threatening to break my concentration … instead letting my trained fingers assess the rest of his injuries before moving to the bones sticking out awkwardly near his shoulder. His shoulder is badly dislocated, the ligaments near the joint have torn, which have allowed the bone to move out of its socket. I would usually just pop it back, done it enough times, but the broken collarbone prevents me from even trying … I don't want to cause any permanent damage. I quickly make the decision to stabilize his broken ribs, dislocated shoulder and broken collarbone with tape, before placing it in a tight sling for extra support. I don't remove his clothing, trying futilely to keep him warm … will probably need to resort to my own body heat to get his core temperature up. I know his injuries are life threatening, and to top it off, it's going to hurt like a mother when he wakes up … I pause for a second, looking at his pale features … _if he wakes up_ … I push that thought away quickly … looking at the 4 single dose morphine auto-injectors worriedly, not sure there will be enough to last the night.

I want to hit something in frustration, suddenly wishing I had been the one to kill that supernatural sonnavabitch, patience has never been one of my virtues. I know with a sick certainty that injuries like these should be treated immediately, the longer we wait, the worse it gets. Internal bleeding can cause death and cardiac arrest, and knowing this doesn't help alleviate any of my dark fears.

I brush those reoccurring thoughts away as I continue working with clinical precision, cleaning the visible wounds with sterile saline**,** and then cutting the leg of his jeans up and past his swollen knee. I need to stabilize the compound fracture midway up his left leg. His knee doesn't look half as bad as the break**,** and I splint the joint above and below the fracture with supplies from my kit.

The detachment I feel helps me with the tasks I perform, trying to convince myself that it's just another hunt, just like all the others … lying to myself. I continue methodically, each step becoming another item on the long list of life threatening injuries. Both boys have concussions, I can see it from the unresponsiveness of their pupils when I use the small penlight to test their reactions. I make a mental note to keep a look out for watery blood from their noses or ears.

Finally, once I'm satisfied that both boys are stable for the moment, I quickly start unpacking the camping gear. I start by laying down a space blanket over the cold rocky surface. I'm planning on using one of the two-man tents as our shelter, and I set it up in record time, working around the boys as I position it against the cliff face. I secure it to the rock with a hammer and pitons, fitting it to the limited space on the ledge. Being a Marine for so many years prepared me in more ways than one for situations just like this. I seal off the drafty open spaces between the rock and the tent with ductape, before folding out my own sleeping bag to keep the boys off the cold surface.

Moving over to Sam next, I check him again. I've done everything I can to bandage and splint his badly broken leg and arm … knowing that the possibilities of a broken hip or pelvis are very real, but I can't be sure under all the bruising. I check the area around his pelvis again, no unnatural swelling as I delicately pull down the waist of his jeans to expose the skin. I open his sleeping bag, carefully shifting first his legs and then his lower and upper body, using my strength and weight to hold him steady, until I have him securely cocooned, before I use the bag as a carry litter to pull him carefully into the tent.

A soft groan has me kneeling next to him in an instant.

"Sam?"

He groans again and I put a steadying hand on his chest.

"Sammy? Can you hear me son?"

He slowly moves his head towards the sound of my voice. His right eye is swollen shut, but he manages to blink at me, his vision wavering as he looks at my face. It takes him a few minutes to focus.

"Dhhd?"

Thank god … I sigh with relief, at least he recognizes me, it's a good sign.

"Hey there kiddo … how ya feeling?"

He looks at me in confusion …

"Whr?"

"The mountain … do you remember what happened?"

… another blank stare … okay, I was expecting this … so why is my heart still hammering madly in my chest …

"Do you know what day it is son?"

He squints at me with one eye.

"Nnn … tired …"

Okay, I'll take that as a no.

His brow furrows, trying to concentrate and then he instantly gets agitated … his expression becoming desperate … and I know the reason …

"It's okay … Dean's here**,** son … you both got hurt … do you remember that?"

"Is … he …"

"He'll be okay**,** Sammy … you'll both be okay, I promise."

He tries to nod, but gives up as pain makes him frown deeply, before his body goes limp again. I want him to stay awake, but I also know he'll be in agony if he does, so I find myself slightly relieved that he's slipped back into unconsciousness.

The feeling of uselessness makes me want to yell out in frustration … I just want to carry them both out of here … but I can't … so instead I pinch the bridge of my nose in annoyance. Need to focus here. I move outside the tent, back to Dean. The snow is falling heavily now as I secure him into his sleeping bag, again using the bag to pull my unconscious son into the shelter I've created.

I zip the flap closed before angling my way to the back of the tent, pushing my backpack against the cliff wall. It's a tight fit so I leave Sam ensconced next to us, before I unzip the bag, and carefully lift Dean's upper body, climbing in behind him, before wrapping the sleeping bag around us both. His back rests against my chest as I gently pull him closer into my embrace, trying to make him as comfortable as I can while my own back rests against my backpack. I'm shivering already, the temperature outside starting to drop rapidly.

I have a few supplies next to me in the first aid kit. I fumble around with one hand until I find one of the flashlights. Switching it on to illuminate the darkening interior. The wind has started howling outside, flapping the material of the tent with unrelenting fury. I shiver, but more from Dean's cold body against my own then the elements, trying to wrap him closer to my body. Sammy's head is resting next to my thigh, so I can keep an eye on his breathing.

I sigh tiredly. It's going to be a long night.

I don't look at my watch, knowing I'll make myself crazy if I count off the seconds until someone can rescue us. But this quiet time becomes an endless torture as I play out the day's events in my head, criticizing myself in every way possible … damning myself to hell at the same time …

"_Fell Dad … I couldn't stop it, I tried … I held on …"_

God, he was trying to tell me … and I wasn't listening …

"_Dean, get with the program." _

I feel sick … all I've ever wanted, everything I've ever done … it's been for my boys, to protect them. At first I only wanted revenge for Mary's death, but when I found out what was out there, what we were up against, I knew I had to train my boys, get them ready for what was to come. I wanted to protect them, and instead here I am, both of them possibly dying … and for what? I haven't protected them, I've only pulled them into a life more dangerous than I ever could have imagined … this isn't the life I wanted for them …

I swallow back the lump in my throat.

… but even if I could go back in time, how could I change things … knowing what's out there …

The minutes tick by, Dean eventually becoming restless in my embrace, and I make small, light circles on his chest with my hand, trying to soothe him.

"It's okay son … I'm here …"

He groans, returning to consciousness quicker than I expected. I gently rock his shivering form in my steady hold, hoping that he will relax, reaching for the auto-injector of morphine I have already laid out at the top of the kit, just in case he doesn't.

He shudders violently, a soft whimpering … the worst sound I've ever heard Dean make … he just doesn't make sounds like that, he's far too stubborn to ever admit he's hurting … so that little sound tells me more than I need to know.

I watch as he slowly opens his eyes, pain etched on his face as he tries to huff through the agony I know he must be in. I pull the cover of the injector off with my teeth, moving carefully, trying to free his uninjured arm so I can get to a vein.

"Dd …"

"Hey son …"

I position his arm, tapping the juncture on the inside of his elbow …

"Dad … can't breathe … hurts …"

I hold my breath for a second, not sure what to do …

"Where**,** Dean?"

He shifts, trying to move his hand to his left side and groaning loudly.

"… under … ribs."

Shit, I'm not positive, but I think it's his spleen, just from the symptoms he's been showing … I don't know the extent of the damage, but it's serious … bruises, tears and ruptures to the spleen are usually caused by blunt abdominal trauma … falling off a cliff will quickly put you in that category.

I move my hand to his abdomen, testing the area again, Dean is huffing in pain even though I'm trying to be gentle. Localized abdominal pain, tenderness, and swelling accompanied by fractured ribs and shortness of breath … all bad signs. But it's when he starts vomiting again, clinging to my arm desperately as I try to hold him still, blood dripping from his mouth, that I'm convinced.

"… Dad …"

He whimpers again as I carefully let him fall back against my chest, holding him steady, trying to transfer some of my strength to his weakening body.

"I've got you**,** kiddo … I've got you …"

"… Dad … please …"

God, he's hurting … I adjust my hold and quickly plunge the auto-injector into his arm, waiting for the medication to take effect.

"I'm here son, you're going to be okay …"

"Hrts …"

"I know, I know … but I'll fix this … I promise you!"

I watch relieved as the lines of pain finally start disappearing, his struggled breaths rattle in his chest, gurgling as he tries to inhale. A death rattle. That thought, the consequences … an indication that he's near death … it's something I won't accept.

He watches me, he's face full of trust … he trusts me, but I'm not worthy, I've never been worthy … my eyes brim with unshed tears … I don't know what to do … I've done everything I can …

"It's okay … Dad … doesn't hurt … anymore …"

His voice is a soft sigh, he knows … I can see it … his tired eyes seem to look right through me, they're usually filled with mischief and sparkling with humor, but now they're just dull and lifeless … I can see the life leaving those eyes …

His voice is soft.

"… mm … dying?"

The anger those words invoke makes my voice harsher then I intended.

"You listen to me Dean … you stay with me**,** you hear … you're not gonna die, I won't let you! There isn't a thing that I won't do to ensure that … do you hear me son … I'll do anything Dean … anything!"

The look he gives me, the quite acceptance and understanding … the love …

… I'm losing him ...

"I'm begging you son … don't give up …"

_**TBC**_


	4. Chapter 4

'**Cliffhanger'**

**Chapter 4**

**Notes:** Thanks to everyone for your fantabulous reviews, comments, fav's and alerts … hope I can still keep you all entertained ;) – Next POV from Sam. Also thanks to my amazing beta's Phoebe and Amarintha, there changes and suggestions are invaluable … _(plus they're at my beck and call 24/7 … and then I wake up) _– all mistakes are always mine! _Still called 'Cliffhanger' … you have been warned ;)_

Also, if you haven't got the comic 'Supernatural Rising Son' – you are absolutely missing out, there is so much pre-series amazingness in this collection … and Comic 6 of 6 has a special feature by Eric Kripke … it's friggin' hilarious! I'd have loved to see Jensen and Jared's faces when they saw that master piece ROFL ;) – God, I hope they continue with more comics like this! It's brilliant!

**Warning:** Language

**Dean's POV**

* * *

I inhale.

Watching Dad, his lips moving … the words a deep, loud hum.

I exhale.

He's scared. Can see it in his eyes. Probably never admit it though.

My chest rattles painfully again and I try to swallow the urge to cough, failing miserably. Instead, I attempt to hack up a lung … shit … it hurts … hanging onto Dad's arm with brutal urgency, as tears start streaming down my face.

By the time I stop, falling helplessly back into Dad's hold for a second time, my heart is hammering wildly in my chest, keeping pace with my short breaths. I feel dizzy, almost faint … well, not faint exactly … cause I don't faint … it's just not a manly thing to do.

Dad is wiping at the corners of my mouth, as I move my gaze down to my little brother, swallowing a few times, tasting more blood. Can see his ashen features, in ghostly contrast to the ever darkening bruises along his face. Dad's hand moves to rest on Sammy's forehead, his thumb trying to smooth the deep lines of pain etched there. He's lying so still next to us, barely breathing. He's hurt real bad, I know it … I want to reach out to him, give him some comfort with a touch, but my arm is wrapped up tightly against my chest.

I'm here dude … I'm here …

Hope this storm ends soon … so that someone can rescue him … rescue us. I don't know how much more of this I can handle.

I groan tiredly, can hear Dad's voice in the background, but I'm not really listening, just drifting in and out, my thoughts wondering, tapping into forgotten memories. Probably a bit delirious, tend to get a bit 'Jimmy Hendrix' on meds. I find myself remembering the first time I ever killed a man. Weird how I feel the same way now, like I felt back then … scared, protective. I killed him … killed a man … not a demon, not a monster … to save Sammy. I was just a kid myself, but he threatened Sam's life. Strange thing is, if I could go back … I'd do it all again … even now … there's nothing I won't do to keep my little brother safe.

Please be okay, Sam … please dude … I know I failed you … but I'll do whatever it takes … just don't leave me … alone …

I let my eyes close … floating … just eternally grateful there's no more pain … must be the morphine … god, I love that stuff.

Warm.

God, it's so nice and warm … don't want to get up just yet …

"Dean …"

Heads a bit stuffy … still really tired … think I'm coming down with something, probably some kinda souped-up flu bug ...

"… please, open your eyes …"

Dad? Ah shit … maybe he'll let me sleep in today, not feeling so great …

"… that's an order son …"

He's slapping my cheek lightly. Crap … so much for that idea … I try to force my heavy eyelids open, squinting. It takes five tries, but eventually I'm looking at his very blurry face through half slits.

"Dd …?"

His eyes are glistening … but he's smiling, even chuckles …

"Hey there … you with me?"

Did I go someplace? I let my eyes move around … bright orange material … tent … wind howling … cold … oh yeah …

I hate camping.

"Feel … funny …"

"It's the meds, kiddo."

Don't I know it. I grin lopsidedly as I watch him … listening to the deep timber of his voice … it's a comforting sound, vibrating in his chest, against my ear.

I relax a bit, breathing slowly… feeling safe as he continues with those gentle, soothing circles on my chest … soothing circles … just like mom used to do, when I was little … when I got sick … the only form of affection I can tolerate when I'm not well ... like I always do for Sammy when he's sick or hurt …

Sammy.

My eyes quickly drift to him again. I know my brother better than anyone … his weird eating habits, his pathetic taste in music, his excuse for a good cuppa joe … and his sleeping habits … that's why I suddenly know …

"Something's … wrong …"

Dad shifts slightly behind me, looking at me worriedly.

"What is it, Dean … you in pain, son?"

I swallow … trying to pull in enough air to talk.

"No … something's wrong … with Sammy …"

"Sam?"

He shifts again, his hand quickly moving to the pulse point in Sam's neck. Dad's shocked intake of breath scares me, and the next few minutes become a blur of activity. He untangles himself, supporting me carefully against his backpack. I shiver, watching as he quickly moves to lean over Sam. He checks Sam's pupils again, times his heartbeats, listens for breaths.

"Shit … he barely has a pulse, he's stopped breathing … come on, son."

My heart nearly stops as I watch Dad grab an Epipen from the kit … injecting it into Sammy's thigh. He starts rescue breaths, forcing air into Sammy's lungs … telling him to wake up between breaths … and I find myself repeating those same words.

"Please Sammy …"

"Come on, son … open those eyes for me!"

Please don't die, Sammy … please …

A few seconds later, Sammy's stunned inhale of breath is accompanied by a round of desperate coughing, but it's the best sound in the world. It takes a few more minutes, and continued prodding from Dad, but eventually he opens his eyes slowly, looking at Dad and then moving his head slightly to look straight at me. I can't help but smile, sighing in relief.

"Dn?"

"Hey … how ya feeling?"

He thinks about it, eyes glazed in uncertainty.

"Sore."

"No … shit."

"you … okay?"

I lean back heavily, tense muscles trying to relax … god … way to give me a heart attack, little brother … I take in a few steadying breaths.

"Yeah … you just about gave me … a friggin coronary … but yeah … I'm good."

I'm lying to him and myself but I don't want to upset Sammy … he's still not with it, severe concussion will do that to you. He watches me for a few minutes … neither of us talking … but eventually the pain meds and injuries win out. Staying awake for short periods of time is all he can seem to manage, before his eyes slip closed again.

Dad fusses around Sammy a bit longer, before he moves over and settles back into the sleeping bag behind me again, supporting my weight. I can feel his fears and concerns, they're the same as mine. Neither of us are sure if Sammy will survive the night. For the next few hours I drift in and out of consciousness. Dad keeps a steady monologue going when either Sam or I are awake, talking about nothing in particular, just trying to keep our minds off our injuries. He doesn't sleep though, moving between Sam and I, sharing his body heat by lying next to Sam and holding him close, or moving back to sit behind me. I can see the man is tired, but he just keeps a wary eye on both of us. He gives Sam another dose of Morphine when he wakes up again, in obvious pain and groaning loudly.

During the short periods that Sammy manages to stay awake, I try to talk to him, hoping to keep him calm, but talking exhausts me. Thankfully Dad takes over and both of us end up listening to stories about Mom, and attempting not to laugh at some of the strange hunts Dad has been on. When I feel the sharp stabs of pain running through my body, I ignore it … I'm good at hiding pain … so when Dad lifts up the last auto-injector of Morphine, I don't hesitate.

"Save it … for Sammy, Dad … he needs it … more …"

He looks at me worriedly, not sure what to do.

"Dean, you haven't had any pain med's for hours son …"

"It's … okay … I'm okay Dad … save it … Sam."

I smile at him, forcing my lips not to tremble as I feel a bone weary ache settle over me. He nods his head, giving Sammy the last dose when he wakes up, gasping in pain a few minutes later. I let my eyes close, thankfully the pull of sleep leaves me with a few minutes of oblivion.

I'm thirsty all the time when I'm awake, but Dad won't give me too much to drink. Instead he offers me small sips of water which I gulp quickly, even though he tells me to take it slow. I'm not sure how long we go through this continual routine … Dad checking Sammy … Dad checking me … but eventually, like a distant rumble of thunder … we finally hear the approach of what we hope is a helicopter.

Dad gets up again, opening the flap of the tent … the snow has stopped but the wind is still strong, and icy cold, leaving a frosty white blanket in its wake. Dad's excited shouts confirm that the rescue team have finally arrived, and I feel relief flooding me …wasn't sure I could handle much more of this hell … I'm really feeling like crap, my body too weak to stay up without support or Dad's help … and Sammy needs a doctor and medical attention immediately.

I watch nervously as one of the rescuers descends on a rope … unhooking his harness, before introducing himself to Dad. He comes in, assessing us both quickly, asking Dad questions, but my attention is on Sammy … his eyes are open … he looks scared and confused at the sudden noise.

"They're here, Sammy … finally … we're gonna be okay."

He smiles at that, too weak and tired to reply … but both of us look over at Dad when he suddenly starts talking really loudly … he's fighting … arguing with the medic.

"I'm sorry sir … we can only medevac one patient. The conditions up here are treacherous … the winds are too strong and the helicopter is drifting slightly. We need to move now … we'll come back, the flight to the hospital will probably take 40 minutes there and back. That should give us plenty of time to fetch you, before the next forecasted snow fall."

"Both my son's need immediate medical attention … you have to take them both … I'll wait here if I have to!"

"I'm sorry, but the initial call said there was only one patient … we could only get the smaller helicopter up here in these conditions … and like I said, we just can't risk it … we can only take one patient, I'm sorry."

Dad looks like he wants to start throwing punches. The medic just looks at us worriedly, the wind picking up as they speak. I know that they're risking their own safety to be up here to get us.

"How do you expect me to choose which of my son's should have medical care first … you tell me that!"

The medic shakes his head, aware of Dad's fears, but he also knows that a decision needs to be made fast. Before I can make the choice for Dad … the medic makes it obvious.

"First rule of triage. Determine the priority. Has either of them stopped breathing?"

Dad looks at us, rubbing his hand through his hair irritably.

"Yes … my youngest … Sam."

"Okay, then we'll take him first."

I can see the war raging inside Dad's head … he doesn't want to make this kind of decision, but he finally nods his head, knowing he has no alternative.

The medic immediately moves into action. Giving Sam an open IV bag of saline with a mixture of drugs, before handing dad a clipboard.

He's shouting above the noise.

"Before we go … you'll need to sign this release form … in case they need to perform surgery."

"Yes … yes … of course."

He then moves over to me, injecting something into my arm … and whatever it is, it's the unbelievably good stuff … god … I'm floating … and the world suddenly looks amazing … I feel great … maybe I can still walk out of here …

"Dean?"

I look at Sammy as they get ready to lift him up, smiling at him loopily. He looks worried.

"It's okay, Sammy … you go … I'll be right behind you, okay?"

"Kay."

I watch as Dad helps carry him outside, securing him into a cage, just before the medic clambers on top and they start pulling them up. My stomach flips … but I'm relieved … at least Sammy is on his way, he'll get help. I can wait … besides, Dad's with me.

He comes inside again, his shoulders hunched as he watches the helicopter moving out of sight over the mountains, before closing the flap again. He moves back behind me, removing his jacket so that his warm body cocoons me. I smile at him … god I love him … and I love the beautiful mountains … and helicopters … I love helicopters.

"… love camping, Dad!"

He snorts at that, holding me closer. For the next few minutes he just talks to me again … just random stuff … I'm still not paying much attention … but I know that he's probably trying to get his mind off the choice he was forced to make … the choice between Sammy or me … a choice I would have made for him, no matter what he decided. I need to tell him, he needs to know that I understand. He made the right decision.

Damn … I hate this … I really hate chick flick moments. Suddenly I'm fighting the urge to cry, damn meds … turning me into a friggin girl … I swallow uncomfortably … guess I don't have a choice …

"Dad … if … I don't …"

"Dean! You just stop right there!"

The anger in those words makes me flinch slightly … but thank god he's stopped me … I was starting to feel a bit socially award.

"I tell you what … I'll make you a promise …"

I look at him nervously … okay … seems I'm not completely out of the 'socially awkward' woods yet …

"If you hold on for me, hold on just a bit longer … and get better, survive this shit …"

Please, Dad … don't say you'll hug me … please …

"… I promise you, son … I'll give you the keys to the Impala."

My breath hitches again.

"Is that a deal, kiddo?"

My heavy eyes are suddenly wide open, looking at Dad in shocked disbelief … shit … maybe I'm hallucinating … god, please don't let me be hallucinating …

"Hell … yeah …"

Dad grins at me, I grin back. I can barely believe what I'm hearing … the keys to the Impala? But Dad loves that car? And he's giving it to me? Oh god …

"Okay then … you just keep fighting, son …"

Fighting … I can do fighting. I nod slowly.

He chuckles, probably the dumbass look on my face right now. Shit … I really hope I'm not dreaming all this.

"I know what you're thinking kiddo, but I'm serious … it's a promise I'll keep."

His voice breaks, but he continues.

"Besides, it's about time you had your own car … and I've had my eye on a new black pickup. So she'll be all yours, son … just promise me you won't stop fighting."

Don't stop fighting … damn … it's worth a try.

"Kay …"

That stupid smile is probably still plastered on my face … hard to tell … I still feel fantastic. Well I'll be a son-of-a-bitch … hell, Dad knows how much I love that car … come on body, you can hang in there for a few more hours …

I sigh tiredly, nearly out of breath.

Sides, I really, really love that car … shit … did I say that already … but I can't help myself … I mean, you just gotta love a car that you can turn on … and it returns the favor.

But my burst of enthusiasm becomes harder to maintain ... my promises slipping away as the meds seem to wear off faster. The pain levels increase so much that I have to fight back the shouts as my body cramps up. I grip Dad's hand desperately. Agony shooting through each limb as I gulp in a lungful of air. Dad holds me the whole time, whispering reassurances, knowing he can do nothing for me. The pain eventually becomes so unbearable, I have to fight to stay conscious, my eyes scrunching shut … sharp stabs hitting me in the chest … tearing up my leg and arm … until I can't hold back a scream.

I ride out the waves of agony, shaking violently in Dad's arms.

"Easy … easy …"

Dad is rocking me slowly again, his voice breaking even though he's trying to stay calm and in control.

"They'll be back to fetch us any minute … just hang in there …"

I'm sorry, Dad …

Then realization … Dad probably knew … knew this would happen … that's why he let Sam go first … he knew I couldn't win this battle … he knows I'm dying … oh god …

Please Sammy, be okay!

"Just a few more minutes, and they'll come back for us, okay … they'll fix you up good as new … and you can hit on all the nurses. I'll bet you they're all hot. What do you say? Sound like a plan buddy?"

Dad'll take care of you …

"Deano … you listening to me son?"

I wheeze … feeling strange … something doesn't feel right … I blink in confusion.

"Dean? What is it?"

Can't …

Need … air …

I grab Dad's arm anxiously, but somehow he understands … shifting me slightly, his cool hand moving to my forehead, keeping my head steady, as he careful tilts my neck back over his shoulder. My shoulder grates slightly … Ow! Ow! Sonavabitch! … but he keeps rubbing my chest soothingly … telling me to take slow, even breaths.

I gulp … chest heaving …

There's a strange buzzing noise in my ears, interrupted by Dad's frantic voice. I look at him puzzled … he's yelling at me, I watch his lips move again … trying to concentrate, but it's so hard … and I'm so tired …

"Come on, kiddo … breathe in … out … that's it … slowly …"

He's coaching me, I watch him … he wants me to inhale … and exhale … I try to keep up with his firm orders, jerking awake as he shakes me softly when I stop … when did I forget how to breathe?

I'm dying over here … shit … and Dad said I wasn't … but he was lying … not surprised … our family makes a living off lies.

Dad … he'll take care of things. He looks after this family, he'll take care of Sam. Sure, we don't have the best life … but Dad and Sammy, they're the reason I do the things I do … they're all I have … and I don't want to lose them. Don't want to leave them either.

I look up at him again, my eyes filled with all my unspoken emotions … shit, who am I kidding? I'm fucking scared. I need Sam. I want to hold on, my hand automatically going out to grip Dad's jacket sleeve in fear, needing to feel something solid, my body arching slightly, feeling the pressure of Dad's tight grip on my wrist. A warm tear runs down my cheek.

I don't … want to die … Dad … not now … I want those keys … to the Impala …

"Dean … look at me, look at me, son …"

It feels like I'm moving away from him, slipping … like I'm leaving. I can still see him though, still feel his steady hold. And there's a panic in his eyes again … my mouth moves soundlessly … wanting to talk, knowing I have nothing left to say … just so tired … too tired to breathe …

"Keep your eyes open, son … stay awake, they're coming back for us, just keep your eyes open and everything will be fine …"

It's an order. Okay, Dad … eyes open … not focusing very well, but everything will be fine …

"Dean! Don't you do this to me, kiddo!"

Sinking … it's a nice feeling … my eyelids try to close but I keep focus … just need to keep my eyes open.

"NO DEAN! Breathe damn you!"

His fingers are at the pulse on my neck.

I can hear you, Dad … don't be mad … think maybe I should just rest for a while …

Dad shifts out from behind me in an instant, I watch him moving quickly as he supports my weight and lowers me to the ground. My eyelids close again as I try to keep my gaze on Dad … he said I need to keep my eyes open.

I feel Dad lift my neck carefully, before he tilts my head back. It hurts like a bitch. He pinches my nose … and then he covers his mouth over mine, blowing two quick breaths into my aching lungs.

Ah shit, dude … is that really necessary?

"Dean … breathe son …"

I try to inhale, nothing happens … okay then … guess it is necessary …

My lungs inflate again as dad breathes air into them, and then I feel the air rush out again, past my cold lips. He repeats the process … he's counting ... I find myself trying to count with him.

I don't have the strength to help … so I just let him take over … feeling something dark pulling me down. I lose track of time again … before I notice small movements, new faces, fading in and out of view … I feel sick, wanting to throw up … but I concentrate on the voices instead.

"John? We're back … what's happened?"

"He's not breathing … god, he's not breathing … help him … please …"

"Shit! Okay … move over."

A mask is quickly put over my face, air being forced into my lungs.

"How long's he been like this?"

"Um … I dunno … five, maybe ten minutes …"

More hands, more prodding, more lifting … rolling me slowly onto my side … something under my neck, bracing it … something injected into my arm … suddenly I'm gasping for air … my eyes still staying open.

"Okay, we've got him … he's breathing on his own again … he's not very stable, but we need to get him out of here, help me move him."

He places another mask with warm oxygen, flowing freely, over my mouth. I can only manage small gulps of breath, fighting to keep my eyes open, like Dad told me to, as they pull me out of the tent. I look at the first rays of a new day, watching the bright light filtering through the thick clouds, over the dark mountain tops … it's beautiful …

"Pulse is weak, blood pressure has bottomed out … vitals are deteriorating rapidly!"

Something shakes me roughly, can feel them lift me and secure me into the basket, just like they did with Sammy, tucking me in with layers of warm blankets. I can see the slow rotation of the helicopter blades hovering above us … god … I hope they're not here for me …

"Okay … he's secure … lift him!"

Weightless … elevated up, twisting and swinging as the strong wind current brushes across my exposed skin … more hands, bumping, fastening … strange faces … talking into mikes, shouting … I look at them, not sure what all the fuss is about …

I continue to fight to keep my eyes open, startled as Dad suddenly settles in next to me, grabbing my right hand firmly in his. He's crying now … tears running down his tanned cheeks. But Dad never cries … I hope nothing happened to Sam. I try to squeeze his hand back, a small smile tugging at my lips.

It's okay … I love you Dad … look after Sammy for me …

I try to focus on his face … but this time I can't fight it … my eyes close.

"We're losing him …"

Something jolts in my chest, catching me by surprise … my breath hitches again … my back arching involuntarily … and then, another jolt … before …

"Oh shit! Come on kid!"

… everything stops.

_**TBC**_


	5. Chapter 5

'**Cliffhanger'**

**Chapter 5**

**Notes:** Thanks again to everyone for your lovely reviews and comments, they all make me smile (and chuckle happily) cause I'm evil that way LOL ;) – I also hope I've managed to maintain the angst and action for you in this chapter. I had a very emotional week last week (cause of someone very special, doing something very special for me) so I tried to use those heartfelt emotions in this chapter.

Thanks as always to my wonderfully talented and generous beta's, Phoebe (alias PADavis) and Amarintha for taking the 'time' to read through my scribbles LOL ;)

**Warning:** Language

**Sam's POV**

* * *

Headache.

Thumping ... in time to my heartbeat.

Oh god ... head's ... definitely ... killing me.

"... ETA, fifteen minutes ..."

I struggle to draw air into my starving lungs, my chest barely rising.

Don't feel so good ... I think I need some help.

Cold. I shiver. Something cold and round moving over my chest.

"... tension pneumothorax. Decreased breath sounds on the right side. Jugular venous distension ..."

Ow, head hurts. Loud noises. I try to move. I can't. I'm strapped down.

I inhale ... warm oxygen rushes into my body ... it's not enough ...

I cough weakly.

Something pulls.

Uh shit ... flaring up my neck. Muscles going rigid with tension.

Ow! Ow!

I think something's broken.

Muffled voices. There's a hand on my chest again, moving around, assessing damage.

My own hand clenches around something textured and flat ... dog tags ... Dad's ... he pressed them into my palm ... before they loaded me into the helicopter.

"_Look after these for me, okay son? We'll meet you there ... just hold on ... for Dean and me."_

"_Kay ..."_

Remember him leaning forward ... gently kissing my forehead ... tears in his eyes. Ah crap ... I must be dying.

Breath hitches again, lungs rattling painfully in my tight chest. Can't breathe.

Oh shit. Can't breathe ... can't breathe ...

I panic ... trying to open my eyes ... can only manage one ... I squint. Someone's leaning over me, a cool pack covering the right side of my face.

"Dn?"

My voice is so soft it disappears amongst the roaring engines. For a brief second**,** it looks like my brother sitting next to me, light illuminating his silhouette, framing him in an unearthly glow ... cocky grin pulling at his lips. I smile back.

I try to focus on him … my vision clears after a moment, but instead, I'm looking at strangers. They're fussing over me … asking me questions. Too many questions.

"Sam ... you with us? Can you hear me?"

Not Dean ... where's Dean?

"Listen, I'm going to insert a needle into your chest ... it's gonna hurt a bit ... but it will help you breathe ... okay?"

No, it's not okay ... I want my brother ... my Dad. I try to tell him, but I cough instead, chest cramping as I fight for breath.

"I'm ... sorry …"

Voice just a whisper ... he doesn't hear me.

"... you should feel better any minute now ..."

I'm sorry ... it's my fault ... my fault ... I feel tears burning behind my lids.

I remember ... the Wendigo.

Images assault me as the memories come flooding back.

I remember stabbing it ... just as Dean doused it with lighter fluid, setting the thing alight. I moved back, but I wasn't quick enough.

It's my fault.

It shrieked, hitting me, sending me flying. Dean was after me in an instant. I know he grabbed my arm, holding onto me ... he wouldn't let go ...

Hazy after that ... but I know he's hurt ... he's hurt badly ... just like me.

My heart aches at the thought. Please Dean, please be okay!

The medic to my left is tapping on my bruised chest with his fingers.

"... hyper-resonance on percussion, unequal chest rise ... hand me that ... need to keep him still."

I look at the medics nervously. Sucking in more oxygen ... forcing it out again. Each gasp a feeble effort. Then more pain as he pushes something into my ribs. The shock of the sensation has me holding my breath.

"I'm inserting the needle."

I try to focus on what he's saying ... but I don't think he's talking to me ... someone ... over the headset.

Instantly, there's relief ... the tight pressure in my chest is released, the rush as I inhale more deeply makes me dizzy.

"Okay ... we've got it ... tape it down ..."

I fight the urge to throw up.

"No ... pulse is still weak and thready ... yes, he's still in respiratory distress."

I want to look around, but I'm so tired. Too weak to move. I just need my family ... I'm scared ... scared of losing them.

"... simple fractures of the … splinted. Yeah ... severe concussion ...

Headache starts again. Slowly becoming worse. I grip the dog tags, desperate for some kind of comfort.

It starts bit by bit, growing more intense. I frown, groaning loudly as shooting white hot spikes suddenly stab at my brain ... I think I cry out ... not sure ... can't focus ...

... hurts ... hurts ...

Feel my eyes rolling back ... please ... hurts ...

The pain is so blinding, so intense, nothing else exists ... can't think straight ... I grab at my head … screaming now ... agony ripping through my skull ... someone help me ... please ...

"SAM?"

Please ... help me ... make it stop ...

"Son ... open your eyes ... you're scaring me!"

Firm hands are holding my wrists as I clutch at my throbbing head. My breath catching as the intensity of the pain slowly starts dying down, but I'm left shaking uncontrollably.

"Sam?"

I blink ... bright light making me squint ... the lingering sensation of agony throbbing behind my eyes as I pinch the bridge of my nose, still trying to get my breathing under control. My heartbeat is thumping wildly in my chest. After what feels like hours I finally look up ... into Dad's concerned face.

"Sam ... Sammy ... please ... look at me, what's wrong?"

"Dad?"

"Thank god**, **Sam ... you scared the shit out of me kiddo! How you feeling?"

I look at him in confusion, my eyes travelling around suspiciously, taking in the scene before me. We're outside, beautiful sunny day, tall, white barked trees, quiet forest ... I look down ... I'm sitting in a wheelchair ... Dad is kneeling in front of me. He looks pale ... scared.

"Where are we?"

The look of worry intensifies on his face.

"Pontiac, Illinois ..."

I look past him at a mound of fresh dirt, a makeshift white cross acting as a marker ... I look back at Dad in confusion.

"What's happening ... why are we here?"

"Sam ... kiddo ... you're really starting to scare me ..."

His hands are cupping my face ... I shake my head slowly, unsure. I turn around, trying to find someone.

"Where's Dean?"

I look back at Dad ... the look he gives me sends a bolt of pure dread through my chest. I look around frantically again, trying to ignore it, praying, denying ... but finally my gaze settles back on that cross, on that heap of dirt ... a grave ... I shake my head ... no ... NO ...

"He died**,** Sam ... you know that kiddo. Dean died."

"NO!"

Dad's words stab at my heart, tearing at my reality ... NO ... I try to push him away, suddenly enraged beyond words. I hit out at him, my fists hitting their mark, but Dad just grabs my wrists, I'm too weak, my efforts useless ... I want to hit him ... hurt him ... damnit ... he can't say that ... he can't ...

"No ... no ... he didn't ... we were on our way to the hospital ... he said he'd be right behind me ... he said ..."

"Sammy ... kiddo ... that was three weeks ago."

I don't know what's happening ... can't remember ... the world suddenly starts spinning uncontrollably ... the only thing I can hear are Dad's urgent pleas for me to breathe ...

I suck in a lungful of air. Shaking violently as Dad grabs the back of my neck in a firm embrace.

"No ... it can't be ... it's not ..."

I'm frantic now, praying, begging ... my voice breaking ... I want to escape this, but I can't move ... I want to run, get away from here ... and then grief ... it hits me like a sledgehammer as Dad tries to hold onto me. I don't want him, I want Dean, but I still clutch at him desperately, my fists knotting into his shirt.

"Dad ... please ... it's not true ... please ..."

I yell out then, screaming at the world ... no ... at Dean! How could he do this ... how could he leave me?

I scream until I'm hoarse ... I scream as Dad tries to hold me close, rocking me in his firm embrace ... I scream until it becomes a low keening noise, a heartbroken sob**,** and then inconsolable tears ...

"Sam ... please son ..."

I don't know how long we sit like that, Dad just kneeling in front of me, holding onto me with the same desperation I feel ... tears streaming down our faces, but eventually I'm too drained, and I sit slumped forward, Dad sitting on the grass next to me, still clutching my wrist. He watches me silently ... my heartbreak reflected in his eyes.

"You were in a coma for over a week, they said you weren't going to make it."

I'm only half listening ... this can't be real ... please god ...

"Don't you remember? We were both with him when he ..."

I want to vomit.

"The doctors said something about 'serum sickness' ..."

I feel dead inside ... I feel dead in this beautiful place, it's filled with death ... it's filled with Dean ... it's so peaceful and isolated ... he would like it ... he would like the silence ...

"... had a delayed reaction to one of the antibiotics ... something similar to penicillin ... it happened so quickly Sam ..."

I look at the grave through blurry eyes ... no frills, no fuss ... just a silent marker of a life lost ... a brother and best friend ... a son ... and it's my fault ...

"One moment he was getting better, bitching about the hospital food, you know how he gets, and then ... "

I look at Dad, knowing how helpless he must feel, knowing how he probably wants to eradicate someone ... it wasn't Dean's injuries that killed him ... it was a mistake ... a stupid allergy ...

"There's nothing anyone could do**,** Sam... he's gone**,** son ... he's gone ..."

Dad's voice breaks again as he looks at the homemade cross. I shake my head in disbelief ... it's not fair ... why Dean?

"It should've been me!"

Dad's eyes suddenly flare with rage.

"Don't you say that Sammy ... Don't you ever say that!"

"It's true Dad, he shouldn't have died ... not Dean ... it's not right ..."

I start sobbing again, Dad just sits next to me quietly, rubbing his thumb over my wrist. He speaks softly, with a strange determination ... and I find myself clinging to his words.

"It's okay son ... I'll find a way to fix this."

There's an odd tone to his voice.

"You know, your mom and I came here once ... to this place ... before we got married. She said it was the most beautiful spot on earth."

I watch as a light breeze plays amongst the tall grass. Rays of warm sunlight filtering through the leaves. She was right.

He chuckles at the memory, his eyes moving to the fresh soil ... my brothers final resting place ... I don't remember ... I didn't even get to say goodbye.

"She said that if ever a place were touched by the hand of God, by angels ... it was here ... I remembered that ... I knew it would be a good place for Dean ... he'll find peace here ... if ..."

He doesn't finish his thoughts. I want to ask him why he decided to bury Dean … why in an unmarked grave … but I can't seem to think past the headache. I rub my forehead absently. Dad doesn't miss it though.

"Come kiddo ... we need to leave ... you're still recovering. I nearly lost you too, I won't let that happen, not ever. Bobby says we can stay over at his place ..."

"No**,** Dad ... please ... I can't leave ... not yet ..."

Pain's getting worse ... I start rubbing at my eyes.

"Sam?"

It hits me with such shocking intensity I yell out ... white spots dancing in front of my eyes ... Dad's urgent yells fading behind a wall of agony.

"SAM?"

Oh god ... please ... it hurts ...

The world is suddenly moving beneath me ... feels like I'm being pushed.

Something sharp slides into my arm. Hands lifting, moving, prodding.

I force my eye open again ... looking for Dad.

"Okay ... what have we got?"

A doctor? My head is spinning with the buzz of activity ... medical staff rushing around ... I can hear them talking, asking questions, but I just stare at them in confusion. The next few minutes becoming a continued blur of activity.

"Sam ... what part or parts of your body have numbness or tingling?

My mouth moves ... but I can't seem to speak.

"Okay, he's not responsive ... where's the medic who brought him in?"

My heart nearly stops when I see him, I recognise him from the helicopter. He starts rattling off a catalogue of my injuries ... but I watch him in stupid amazement. What the hell is happening?

"Get me a MRI scan of his head and spine."

I'm fighting to stay awake ... weak and drained... but I need to know ...

"Dean?"

The medic looks over at me briefly, moving forward to squeeze my wrist reassuringly.

"We're gonna fetch him now**,** Sam ... just hang in there, buddy ... you're in good hands."

I forget to breathe ... a nurse quickly adjusts the mask over my face, something else injected into my arm ... Dean ... they're going to fetch Dean? He's alive? I start trembling, the shock and relief washing over me like a tidal wave.

He's alive? What happened? Was I dreaming?

As that thought occurs to me, I know ... suddenly I know with a certainty, that what just happened to me was real. As real as anything I've ever felt. Almost like a vision. I don't know how... but I was given a glimpse of the future. And I can change it.

My heart rate speeds up. I try to talk, but no sound comes out ... I look at the people surrounding me in desperation. But they're all busy ... rattling off instructions ... I can't concentrate ... I try to fight it, try to stay awake, but my eyes close ... and I drift for a while.

A woman's voice startles me awake. I blink ... trying to concentrate.

"We're going to inject you with a dye**,** okay Sam? I'll also look after this for you."

She takes Dad's dog tags out of my weak grasp. I watch her as she moves away. I need to tell her something. They've moved me onto a narrow table, which they slide into a large tunnel-like tube. The machine produces loud thumping and humming noises. Someone's talking to me ...

"Okay Sam, the spine MRI will show us the exact location of any damage to the spine, spinal cord, or disks."

Please ... I have to tell you something ... but I start blacking out again ... waking up intermittently. Need to speak ... to the doctor ... I find myself being lulled by the pull of deep sleep.

"There's another critical patient on route."

... another critical patient ...

... remember ...

... critical ...

... Dean? ...

... help ... Dean ...

I gasp ... forcing myself to alertness... grabbing weakly onto the doctor's arm.

"... Dean ..."

He moves forward, trying to hear my softly whispered pleas.

"What**,** Sam? What is it?"

"Dean ... lergic ..."

I can't even hear myself. I try again ... using my last stores of strength...

" ... he's ... lergic ... penicillin ... serum ... sick ..."

He looks at me in surprised shock.

"Dean's allergic to Penicillin?"

"... ys ..."

Thank god, thank god ... someone understands.

He smiles down at me reassuringly, nodding his head ... but he still seems worried.

"Okay, we'll let them know. Get someone over to the ER and tell them that Sam's brother is allergic to Penicillin, they should be here any minute ... um, Dean ... Dean Davis."

I almost sigh with relief, letting myself finally relax.

"Sam, buddy ... I know you're tired, but we need you to try and stay awake a little bit longer. You think you can do that for me?"

Yeah.

"Sam, keep your eyes open."

Okay.

Darkness finally wins again, wrapping itself around me like a shroud, pulling me down ... I don't think I can push my way back ... don't have the strength to fight.

"Sam? Sam? Shit! ... Okay people, let's get him to the OR stat!"

Damnit ... I hope this isn't it ... really didn't want to die a virgin.

_**TBC**_


	6. Chapter 6

'**Cliffhanger'**

**Chapter 6**

**Notes:** Virtual Candy to everyone for the awesome reviews, comments, fav's and alerts ;) – thanks you guys. Plus my awesome beta's, PADavis and Amarintha, who have a thankless job … wait a sec, I do thank them? _Heaven knows why they complain so much ROFL ;)_

**Warning:** Language and "MWW" _(Merciless Winchester Whumping)_

**John's POV**

* * *

He's back.

Oh, thank god … he's still alive.

A sigh of relief shudders through my body. My hand fisting into the thick blanket covering my son, my throat aching**,** as I swallow back my raw emotions.

He's alive. They had to shock him … shock his heart … he nearly died, he nearly died right here in front of me.

I look in silent awe at the medics still working frantically over Dean. They saved my boy … how can I ever repay them for something like that? I almost chuckle at myself, may very well be turning into a chick. The boys would love that, probably use it as leverage against me. I smile at the thought.

My eyes mist up again and I rub at them ineffectually, swallowing hard. God … he's still alive … I just have to hold onto that thought … knowing how close to death he still is right now.

My hand moves up to gently squeeze his trembling arm … his entire body is shaking slightly, probably in response to the shock. I want to tell him that I'm here, that I'm still with him … he needs to know … needs to fight and hold on.

One of the medics is tapping me on the arm. He talks to me through the headset.

"John, we'll be landing in two minutes … we have a thoracic surgeon on route, his ETA is approximately twenty minutes."

I look at him, unsure.

"Thoracic surgeon?"

"Yeah … Dean has a hemothorax, so blood is accumulating in the pleural cavity."

He taps at his own chest and I nod, understanding most of what he's saying.

"The blood accumulation is putting pressure on his heart. That's why he went into cardiac arrest. Plus**,** we have absent breath sounds on the affected left side. The surgeon will need to find the source of the bleeding and drain the blood with a tube."

I nod again and he smiles at me reassuringly, before he starts rattling of vitals to the dispatch at the hospital.

I look at Dean's still features, the other medic methodically squeezing oxygen into his lungs … my mind drifting to Sammy … wondering if he's even still alive. God, I shake my head … I can't think like that … I need to stay positive.

Exactly two minutes later we hit the tarmac. They lift Dean out of the helicopter and onto a gurney, and take off running, drips held high**,** as we duck under the decelerating blades. We rush towards the triage doors as more medical staff come streaming out to meet us. I keep up with them as they push Dean down a short corridor, and into one of the resuscitation bays.

The trauma team instantly takes control, the doctor barking orders at everyone as he begins assessing Dean.

I move slowly to the corner of the room, staying out of everyone's way as I try to concentrate on his words, words that are not comforting … but my full focus still remains on my waning son.

"… blunt chest trauma … hemorrhaging … run multiple IV lines … warm, rapid infusion of plasma …"

I watch silently as they cut Dean's clothes from his body. They carefully remove his belt before cutting up both legs and through the waist on each side. Leaving him in thermal underwear? I find myself smiling sadly at that … thermal underwear**,** kiddo? They make short work of removing those as well. They also cut away his 'Stones' t-shirt. God, he's going to be pissed … he loved that tee.

When they remove the bandages holding his arm in place and the makeshift splint around his leg … I put my hand out against the wall to steady myself.

I can't help my sharp intake of breath when they reveal the dark and mottled bruising wrapping around his torso, along with various bloody injuries revealed as they expose each inch of his battered body. His knee, his leg, his shoulder. I saw them earlier, but they look so much worse now.

The doctor glances up at me briefly, looking at me sadly, but he doesn't say anything … doesn't order me out … and I suddenly feel sick.

"Okay, looks like we have localised bruising and abdominal distension. Let's get a CT scan and soft tissue x-ray immediately to see where these bleeds are occurring."

They quickly push Dean into an adjoining ER room to do the scans. I find myself following stupidly, but the doctor puts his hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

"Mr. Davis, is that right?"

"Yeah."

I nod my head, trying to remember the details on the medical insurance card I gave them. Praying that there isn't a problem.

"I'm Doctor Webber, I just want you to know that we're going to do everything we can for your boys."

"Thank you … thanks …"

My throat tightens up again.

"Do you have any news … on Sam?"

He shakes his head, but he watches me worriedly.

"My colleague sent a message to me. Do you know if Dean has ever had an allergic reaction to Penicillin?"

I look at him in confusion, trying to remember … I don't ever remember Dean having Penicillin before …

"I don't think so …"

"It's just, apparently Sam was insistent, he was barely conscious but he insisted that Dean was allergic."

That's all the confirmation I need.

"I trust Sam, he and Dean spend a lot of time together … if he says Dean is allergic to something, anything … I'd listen to him."

"Okay … then we'll use an alternative, just in case."

He leaves me alone again, and it takes ten long minutes for them to finish the scans before they wheel Dean back in. A nurse comes in to confirm that the thoracic surgeon will be arriving any minute.

Doctor Webber and his team are preparing Dean for surgery and I watch as they intubate him and put him on mechanical ventilation. He gags slightly as they insert the tube, but he's still unconscious.

They let me move to sit next to Dean, allowing me to carefully slide one hand to the curve of his neck to gently massage the taut muscles there, while I grip his wrist with the other, feeling the faint pulse beneath my fingertips.

I look at his hand, studying the shape, it's the same size as mine … it used to be so small, used to fit around my fingers perfectly … my boy … my child … dying … I won't accept that!

The doc talks to me through each of the processes he's performing, he probably thinks it will help me to know exactly what is happening to Dean. But all it does is make my gut clench in anxiety.

"He's in what we call the peri-arrest period. He was in cardiac arrest on route, and he's still highly unstable. We'll have him under constant monitoring with preventative treatment … he'll be going into surgery shortly …"

An alarm sounds, making me jump in surprise.

"Shit! Doctor, he's in V-tac again!"

I watch in horror as they roll the crash cart closer, pushing me out of the way, injecting numerous drugs directly into his IV line.

"He's coding."

The monitor next to Dean is broadcasting his erratic heartbeat. There's a whining sound just before they put the paddles on his chest and shock him … his back arches as the current runs through his body.

Oh god … not again … please**,** son …

Everything becomes a blur of activity, compressions, shocks, readings … but the whining of that monitor is the only sound that I hear.

"Come on Dean, stay with us buddy … okay, charge …"

He's dying … no … I find myself slipping down into the chair behind me, against the wall, my knees unable to hold me upright any longer.

"_Please_**,** son."

It's a desperate, whispered plea … a desperate, whispered prayer.

How am I supposed to tell Sammy that you died? Please don't make me do that**,** Dean … please …

They apply the paddles to his chest again …

"Please**,** son … just hold on …"

Hum.

Paddles.

Shock.

And finally … finally, after a lifetime of endless fear … the irregular rhythm of a weak pulse … my own heart finally kick starting again, along with Dean's.

"… that's it …"

I want to rush from the room then, I want to throw up … but I can't leave him yet … it was too close … too damn close.

"… start a _dopamine IV_ infusion …"

I look at my boy, making sure that his chest is rising, checking the monitors again to make sure that the regular rhythm is still there. Shit**,** kiddo … you're seriously killing your old man over here …

They have him stabilized again, and tears burn a path down my cheeks, my hands shaking as I rub them across my face.

"John?"

I look up at the doctor, he's kneeling in front of me, and I chuckle nervously, tension draining from my body.

"Shit."

He chuckles back, nodding his head.

"Yeah**,** I know, that's why I'm completely grey ... I'm actually only twenty one."

I snort in response. The man's late fifties, at least.

"John, the thoracic specialist is here now, I'm going to join him, scrub up, but I need you to understand something. Dean's blood pressure is so low he went into in hypovolemic shock, which has subsequently led to hypoxia. We're replenishing his fluids to raise his blood pressure and stabilize him enough for surgery.

I can only nod again in a dim-witted response.

"I need you to understand that this operation is going to be very dangerous. Your son is extremely unstable, we've nearly lost him twice … you need to prepare yourself …"

He's silent for a brief second, before adding, "…if you're a praying man, now would be a good time to start."

I look at him then, knowing there's nothing more I can do for either of my boys … I have to leave my most precious possessions in some stranger's care. I've had to do that before over the years … and shit … it's the hardest thing I've ever done, and it never gets any easier.

"We need to get him to the ER now."

I know what he's asking of me … he wants me to say goodbye … but I won't …

Instead I get up, and move back to my son on unsteady feet, before leaning forward, like I did with Sam, and kissing him gently on his forehead. He already smells like hospital disinfectant … it reminds me of death, that thought makes me shudder … before I carefully brush my fingers through his short hair, whispering, "I'll be waiting here for you**,** kiddo … don't you go anywhere … that car won't polish itself."

They finally start pushing him out, and I follow them up to the swing doors that take him away from me. Watching through the small glass window as they wheel him quickly to the surgery. Watching until he disappears behind more large doors.

I stand like that for the longest time. Knowing that both my kids are down that corridor. Both of them are fighting for their lives …

When I find myself again, I'm standing over the basin in the restroom … water pouring down the drain as I stare at my reflection. Dark stubble, dark lines, deep wrinkles … too pale … and eyes, haunted eyes that shouldn't belong to me. What happened? How did I get to this point? How did I manage to lose everything?

If my boys die … if they don't make it through this … I know with a certainty that I'll lose my own will to live … I don't want to be in this world alone, without them. I was trying to make it a better world for them … damnit … if they're gone, then there's no point, there's no point to any of this.

A tear drops into the swirling water, disappearing into the darkness below … and I cry then, cry like I've never cried before, collapsing to my knees as sobs wrack my body.

Please god … if you're out there … if you're listening … please don't take my boys from me … please … I'm begging you.

Time moves slowly … matching my pace … it's two hours later, and I'm still walking around the hospital aimlessly. I have my dog tags and Dean's amulet around my neck. Their other possessions are safely tucked in my pockets.

Every time I ask the bored nurse on duty if they have any news … I get the same irritated response.

"They're still in surgery**,** Mr. Davis. The doctor will see you as soon as they're finished."

So I just walk around. Walk down passageways, drinking cups and cups of stale coffee, walk outside in the gardens, the crisp air making me shiver, and then returning to sit on one of the hard plastic chairs. My leg bounces irritably on the linoleum floor … but still no updates.

On my fifth patrol around the premises, I find a small door, leading to an even smaller chapel. I squeeze into one of the chairs, resting my elbow on my knees, rubbing at the thick stubble covering my chin.

I look up then, at the beautiful stained glass window … a scene with a dove flying over a green forest, a twig hanging reverently from its beak.

But it's the white painted wooden cross acting as the center piece that catches my attention. A single white cross … it's beautiful. Such a humble symbol, and yet so powerful. Probably why they use them in all the war memorials … those fields of endless, orderly**,** and perfect white crosses, a mark of bravery, of faith … and of peace.

I pray again … praying for my sons, for this endless battle with evil to be over … praying for retribution for Mary … but I don't pray for myself … I don't deserve redemption.

Cause even though I'm sitting on holy ground, praying … I know with a certainty that if anything happens to either of my boys … I'll find some way, any way to save them. If god won't help me, then I'll find someone or something who will. I remember Bobby telling me about people who summon demons … I'm not sure how it works, but I'll read up on it, do research … because if that's the choice I'm left with … I'll make it.

Shit … that reminds me, I'll need to phone Bobby, probably Caleb … and Jim.

Someone enters the chapel and I stand up too quickly, the room spinning a bit. It's a doctor, one I don't recognize.

"Sir … you're with Sam and Dean … you came in with Dean?"

"Yes, that's right."

He looks at his clipboard.

"I see here that you're their father."

"Yes."

My heart is instantly hammering in my chest

"I'm Dr DeMarco. I operated on Sam. He's just come out of surgery, they're moving him to intensive care … please, maybe you should take a seat."

My legs weakly obey his request as I fall back into the chair behind me, swallowing uncomfortably.

"The prognosis for both boys isn't looking very good."

I look at him with sick dread.

"Dean?"

"I'm sorry …"

No … oh god no … my breath stops … everything stops …

"… we still have no news about Dean."

Shit! I think I'm going to have a fucking heart attack any minute now.

"… and Sammy?"

"He has extensive trauma injuries but our main concern was the results from the CT scan. Sam has a subdural hematoma caused by a depressed skull fracture with an intraparenchymal bleed … it's a very serious condition. We had to drain the fluids to relieve the pressure building inside his head."

"God … please tell me he'll be okay though … when will he wake up, when can I see him?"

He looks at me with unveiled sympathy and I find myself shaking uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry**,** Mr. Davis, but I'm afraid Sam has slipped into a coma."

_**TBC**_


	7. Chapter 7

'**Cliffhanger'**

**Chapter 7**

**Notes:** Sorry this chapter took a bit longer than usual, but wouldn't you just know it … a bunch of 'slow dancing' aliens abducted me … _(grabs nose in desperation as it starts to grow from blatant fib) _– okay, okay, I give … no excuse, other than that it was friggin' complicated to write like a Doctor, I don't know how 'House' manages ROFL ;)

Thanks as always to my amazingly-talented-fountains-of-information-beta's PADavis (who has been taking some awesome photo's for me from her trip to OBX, to show me all the places that Sam and Dean visit in her story titled, wait for it …. 'OBX' - _a new project in store for this story, more news soon_) and my grounding force Amarintha, both of whom send me virtual hugs of encouragement, virtually every day … cause I'm so needy ;)

Also virtual chocolates, to virtually everyone for the amazing reviews, fav's and alerts … hope you're still reading and haven't died of boredom yet (if not, this may just be the chapter that does you in) _rushes off to practice first aid on gerbil, now where did I leave that epipen?_ ;)

**Warning:** Language

**Doctor Peter Webber's POV**

* * *

I watch through the large glass window while Dean is being prepped, standing alongside Tony as we scrub up.

"You're tellin' me they're brothers?"

"Yeah, it's not looking good either, they were stuck on the mountain overnight cause of that storm … he arrived here about forty minutes ago."

I nod my head in Dean's direction.

"Both boys fell off a cliff, the dad says it was a hiking accident."

Tony glances at me, eyes wide, knowing as well as me just how serious these injuries are.

"I've got the scans ready for you to look at. He's suffered blunt thoracic trauma, splenic vascular blush on abdominal CT, probably a sign of pseudoaneurysms of splenic arteries."

"Holy shit … that bad?"

I nod my head again.

"Yeah, we nearly lost him twice already … the dad's in a state. The younger brother's already in OR."

We move over, a nurse helping us put our surgical gowns and masks over our scrubs, and we push through the doors to the surgery. We stand by the x-rays and scans, viewing them up on the light-board, as we work out our game plan.

I point to the areas highlighted on the CT scan.

"We'll need to manage the blunt chest trauma first, which is going to be tricky seeing as he's still in hypovolemic shock. We also have unilateral absence of breath sounds, deviation of trachea, and a decompression of the chest cavity. We've already started an auto-transfusion."

He nods in agreement of my initial assessment.

"Okay, we should do a splenorrhaphy … try for splenic preservation if we can … drain the blood with a wide-bore tube, basal drain and re-expand his lung."

We move over to the surgical table, discussing the steps we need to take, while Tony checks the instruments and read-outs and I adjust the overhead lamp, letting it illuminate the kids' severely bruised torso. Tony is reading Dean's chart.

"From the looks of things we'll also need to do an emergency thoractomy for the massive haemothorax. The kids lost more than 200ml of blood over the last hour."

I watch as the members of our team carefully lift Dean's pelvis slightly and tilt it to the right, mindful of the wires and tubes.

"Is the airway maintained?"

The anesthesiologist nods, "Yes doctor, we're ready."

Tony and I glance at each other briefly again before we begin, knowing this young man's life is in our hands now.

We've both agreed on the laparotomy technique to operate on the spleen and the internal organs. The kid had lost too much blood already. Tony makes a small incision in the upper abdomen. I lift the peritoneum layer with forceps**,** as Tony makes a small opening with the surgical knife along the midline. Blood spurts out across the table, but I control the bleed temporarily by compressing the splenic pedicle. The anesthesiologist confirms that our patient is in a satisfactory condition to proceed.

We both carefully examine the abdominal organs for further signs of injury or other abnormalities, spending the next hour talking through each step, working methodically**,** until Tony finally manages to begin sutures on the spleen.

I call for suction.

"He's hemorrhaging rapidly**,** people … let's keep running those multiple IV lines and fluids …"

A nurse leans over to insert another chest drain, the suction noise competing with the methodical beeping of the heart monitor.

"Clamp."

I keep a wary eye on the ECG.

"How's he doing?"

"Pulse and blood pressure are still weak**,** Doctor, but he's stable."

Shit, this kid is hanging on by a tooth and a nail.

_Just keep fighting_**,**_ Dean._

For the next two hours, Tony continues with the splenorrhaphy, while I start surgery on the fracture of the tibial plateau of Dean's knee. There's a small break**,** and luckily the bone hasn't separated. Just need to re-align the leg and drain the fluids building up around his knee.

My concentration is so intense that I'm surprised to find that another hour has flown by as we continue with our efforts to save this boy's life. I've moved on to the surgery on Dean's collar bone, Tony's voice startling me.

"We have lower rib fractures …"

There's nothing much we can do about that, but I know my colleague is just listing the injuries for record purposes. I'm stabilizing the fractured bone when I see it. Ah crap.

"… we also have a first rib fracture."

Tony looks up at me in disbelief.

"Shit."

Our eyes meet for a second, both knowing that a fracture of the first rib is serious chest injury. The chance of a full recovery from that is no more than thirty percent not to mention that the kid will probably have significant nerve damage if he survives. I look down at Dean's pale face worriedly, watching as air is mechanically forced into his lungs. God, his chances of survival have just nose-dived.

With that thought, there is a sudden loud beeping of alarms, and my eyes fly to the panels, looking at the readouts.

'Doctor, he's in cardiogenic shock, myocardial infarction …"

"Come on**,** kid, don't quit on us now."

I quickly order an injection of an intropic agent to enhance his heart's pumping capabilities, but we also need to minimize heart muscle damage. I frown, still watching, waiting … and then finally**,** he stabilizes again. I find myself sighing. Shit**,** kid, just hang in there … just hang in there.

"Let's maintain those fluid replacements."

Half an hour later**,** Tony's tired voice interrupts the tense silence.

"Okay, looks good on my side … let's sew him up and get him to recovery."

After a careful double check for bleeding, he closes the abdominal incision, before he applies a gauze dressing over the stitches.

Six hours and ten minutes after starting the operation, we're scrubbing up again, as they wheel Dean through to recovery. We'll have him in intensive care until he starts showing signs of improvement.

I sigh wearily. God, I just hope it was enough.

"So, I'll see you at racquetball on Saturday?"

I blink tiredly, watching the soapy water swirl down the drain as I scrub my hands.

"Yeah, yeah … but you better bring your game**,** buddy-boy … I'm not losing again."

Tony chuckles as we say our goodbyes. He's the best thoracic surgeon I know, and I'm grateful he was able to help me on this case. I feel better knowing that John's son was in his capable hands.

I walk through to ICU, wondering at the strange concern I suddenly seem to have gained for this family. I see hundreds of patients, but I always try to maintain some sort of clinical distance from them, it's just easier that way. But somehow this family has managed to break that rule, in just the few short hours that I've known them. Maybe it's the thought of a father losing both children at once.

I'm still contemplating these strange events as I walk into Dean's room. I check the monitors and read outs again, check his pulse and blood pressure. I'm putting off something I'm going to hate doing … I need to go out there now, and speak to John. He's son is so critical, and suddenly I don't want to be the one to give him the news.

I make my way down the passageways, looking in at the waiting area, but he's not there. I find him sitting next to the youngest Davis boy … I look at the chart hanging by the door, hooking it down before reading it … 'Sam Davis'. John is holding the boys hand in his own, gently rubbing circles on the inside pad of his thumb.

He turns as I enter the room, his eyes swollen and red. But it's the sudden look of relief as he sees me that nearly breaks my heart.

"My son?"

I move forward, pushing him back down gently as he attempts to stand. I bend to kneel beside him instead.

"John … he's in recovery, he survived the surgery."

A deep sigh escapes his lips as he rubs a shaky hand over his tired face. The multitude of lines already mapping his features seem deeper.

"How bad is it?"

"He's doing as well as can be expected. He's a fighter."

I look over at the young boy lying in the bed next to us, hooked up to the machinery that's keeping him alive.

"Both your boys are."

He gives me a tentative smile, his lips trembling.

"We'll have Dean on constant monitoring, keep an eye open for reactions to medications, pneumonia, infection … but all that matters right now is that he's stable."

I don't have the heart to tell him the true extent of his son's injuries. He looks exhausted, but there is still hope in those eyes, and I don't want to take that away from him.

"Can I see him?"

"Yeah, come with me."

He follows me back to Dean's room**,** which is only a few doors away from Sam's, and I stop him just before he enters.

"You know what to expect, right?"

He nods, a silent strength radiating from him as he walks past me and into the room.

I watch silently by the door as he moves next to Dean's bed. He doesn't say anything, just leans forward and tenderly brushes his hand across Dean's brow. He settles into the chair next to his son, and suddenly I feel like an intruder. I leave him alone then, as I make my way to the busy nurses' station.

Half an hour later I've done my rounds and I've managed to speak to Doctor DeMarco about Sam's case.

He needs to run more tests, but there was extensive swelling on the boy's spinal column. He's not too sure of the true extent of the damage**,** and worried that Sam may be paralyzed. John has already been told, and I'm surprised the man is still managing to function at any level after the devastating events of the last day or so. Before I realize it, I'm standing by Dean's door again. John's soft voice is echoing in the silent room.

"… keep fighting**,** kiddo, please, please … just keep fighting …"

I clear my throat, and he turns quickly to look at me.

"Sam? Is everything alright with Sam?"

God, I should have realized.

"Yes, sorry … yes John, he's still fine, no change."

His hand moves to his chest as he swallows hard.

Shit, I'm an idiot. I move further into the room, checking Dean's vitals again, satisfied that he's still holding his own, I return my attention to John's pale and drawn features.

"When last did you eat something?"

The look of confusion only confirms my suspicions.

"Come with me."

He looks back at his son, uncertain.

"He'll be fine, I promise, they'll call us if there's any change to either of the boys. Come on**,** John, it's on me."

He reluctantly follows me to the dining room. I watch as he fills his plate with a cheese and ham sandwich. I add a chocolate dessert, muffin**,** and a strong cup of coffee to his tray before paying**,** and moving to the nearest table. It's late, but the canteen stays open all hours.

I watch him intently, his focus on the plate in front of him, I can see he's not in the mood to chat, he just keeps pushing the food around aimlessly. I keep my voice steady, trying to calm his fears.

"John … I know you're worried, but we really are doing everything in our power to save your boys."

He looks up then, he's eyes staring right into my soul.

"I know … I do … and I can't thank you enough."

"That's not what I meant … what I'm trying to say is that you need to keep your strength up. Your boys are going to need you more than ever, you need to healthy for them. We can't have all three Davis' admitted, now can we?"

He looks at me nervously, before shaking his head.

"No, I guess not, you're right."

He takes a big bite of his sandwich, he's probably hungrier than he even knows, and I suddenly feel a lot better. We manage to have a decent conversation, revolving mostly around small talk. He doesn't divulge any information that he's not willing to give, even though I try to fish it out of him. The man's a complete mystery**,** and I find myself more intrigued by this mysterious family then before.

"So, do you have a prognosis on my boy's conditions?"

I knew this was coming, still doesn't make it any easier.

"Yeah."

He raises his eyebrow impatiently.

"Well?"

I grin at his no-nonsense attitude, before plucking up the courage to go through the catalogue of injuries that Dean has sustained.

"… previously we would have just done an immediate laparotomy to remove the entire spleen …"

He listens to me with keen interest, and I'm surprised to realize that he actually understands most of the medical terms I'm using. I can only imagine how he's feeling right now, but oddly enough**,** he still seems completely in control of his emotions.

"… Sam's condition is still pretty unstable. We won't know the full extent of his head injury until he regains consciousness."

And here it comes, the thing I didn't want to say.

"But you need to understand**,** John … that may never happen."

He looks at me with complete confidence reflecting in his eyes.

"He'll be okay, both of them will. I have to believe that. I have no choice."

I watch him in amazement again, finishing the rest of our meal in companionable silence.

I walk him back to Sam's room, his voice stopping me just before I turn to leave.

"Doc, I'd appreciate it if you would keep in touch with me tomorrow, I have a few errands to run, I need to fetch our equipment and the car … but I'll have my phone … if anything happens, anything … please call me."

"Yes of course."

"And also, I've phoned a few of my friends, Bobby Singer might phone for an update, and Pastor Jim Murphy is on his way. If I'm not back before he arrives …"

He's putting his trust in me, and I get the feeling that's a hard thing for him to do.

"I understand John, I'll let him see the boys."

"… thanks …"

I smile, watching as he moves back to his vigil next to his son.

The rest of the evening is thankfully quiet and I manage to catch a few hours sleep in the Doctors lounge. When I eventually wake up and look at my watch, I'm surprised to find that it's already 8am.

The nurse on duty gives me the message that John has left already, leaving me his telephone number. I do my rounds, starting with Sam, chatting to his physician to get an update, before moving through to Dean's room.

He's condition hasn't changed, except that he now has a low grade fever, which I was expecting. He's off the ventilator though, breathing on his own with slight difficulty, a nose cannula providing him with much needed oxygen. I order a new round of broad spectrum antibiotics.

I'm taking a reading of his pulse, when his eyes suddenly fly open, staring blankly at the ceiling. I look at him in shocked surprise. There's no way he should be awake this soon. I check his chart again, seeing what medication and dosages he's on.

My penlight shines in his eyes as I check for and see the response of his pupils to the light. Holy shit. He's awake and in pain.

I hit the call button and order a stronger dose of sedatives and pain killers stat, my attention returning worriedly to my patient. How the hell is this possible?

"Dean, can you hear me? … do you know where you are?"

His eyes are watering, trying to focus on my face … and they're filled with … fear?

"_Smy?"_

_**TBC**_

_Next chapter from Dean's POV _


	8. Chapter 8

'**Cliffhanger'**

**Chapter 8**

**Notes:** I just want to thank everyone for the awesome response to this little fic, your wonderful comments, reviews, alerts and fav's just make me glow ;)

Just a small heads-up. I am planning on finishing this story on chapter 10, mainly because that is how it played out in my head. Hopefully it will be rounded off nicely so that I don't leave you disappointed or craving more LOL :)

Thanks as always to my amazing beta's PADavis and Amarintha who are infinitely patient with me and my weird moods swings, and also to Kelly for the final proof read – they are the icing on my cake ;)

I'm busy with a new project … cause I can't sit still ;) … I'm doing a 'comic book' version of PADavis' story 'OBX' - and yes, she has given me permission to play in her sandbox LOL ;) - The cover page is up on DeviantArt, so if you'd like to keep a look out, visit the link from my homepage. I'm going to try and have a panel finished every week.

Next POV from John and then from Sam … enjoy.

**Warning:** Language

**Dean's POV**

* * *

Sammy?

I try to gulp in a lungful of air.

Oh god … he fell … I let him fall … his fingers slipped through mine … I watched him disappear over the edge …

I want to scream, my throat aching, swelling shut, my heart racing in my chest … what have I done?

I let him die?

"_Smy?"_

God … hurts …

"Dean, don't fight the medication, buddy … just try to relax …"

Focus … need to focus …

A man … leaning over me … keeps shining a light in my eyes … goddamnit … headache … have a headache, asshole.

"_Nhnn…"_

I squint, eyes watering … need to concentrate … have to find …

"_Sm…?"_

"Dean, Dean … take it easy, kid, don't try to move …"

The man looks at me in concern … where am I? Body feels weighed down, people holding me … eyes trying to close. No … can't … can't sleep …

"… please … m' broth …"

"Shit, keep him still … Dean, listen to me, Sam is doing okay, he's in the room next door."

Room … next door … not dead … he's not dead, just a nightmare … thank god … just a …

'Dd?"

"He's not here son, he left, he'll be back later."

He … left? … probably mad … still mad … at me …

*****

"He needs to recover, Jim … I rely on him to back me up but if that arm doesn't heal he's going to become a liability on hunts … he'll have to retire from this gig … and frankly, I don't think I can do this on my own..."

Dad? … m'okay … I'll get better … won't be … liability …

*****

"… still a bit concerned about the low grade fever, but we have him on broad-spectrum antibiotics …"

Hello? … Someone out there? … Don't feel so good ...

"We have him heavily sedated, but we're lowering the doses. He should wake up in the next day or two."

*****

There was this girl I met once in Tulsa … pole dancer … man, she could swing her hips like nobody's business … almost like the nurse over here.

I grin lopsidedly at her as she swaggers around me but she doesn't smile back, all business with a wet facecloth. Boy, does she fill that outfit out in all the right places. I force my tired eyes to stay on her every movement … she's giving me a sponge bath … woke up to the awesomeness of it all just a few minutes ago, the grin still on my face.

The morphine I'm on is fucking awesome, man, and luckily strong enough that my appreciation at her ministrations doesn't show up physically.

Still connected to wires and machines and catheters and IV lines … feel like a friggin' lab experiment. Been getting more lucid over the last three days. Hardly seen Dad in all that time, though. He spends most of the day at Sammy's bedside. The thought makes another painful knot tighten in my stomach. He told me, after I threatened to check for myself, that Sammy's in a coma. God … he may even be paralyzed … and they still won't let me see him … it's starting to seriously piss me off …

"_You're not strong enough yet_,_ kiddo."_

All they have to do is wheel me into the room with Sam so I can just see him – how fuckin' strong do I have to be for that?

The look of fear and apprehension Dad throws my way every time the physiotherapist comes to check in on me is making me slightly nervous.

"_You need to get better_,_ son, need to heal fully."_

I find myself frowning at the nurse now, wishing she would just hurry up already and leave. She finishes off with the clean dressings, and shifts me into one of those gawdawful hospital gowns. I'm still too weak to do anything but let her manhandle me. She doesn't acknowledge me as she leaves, but I find that I just don't have the energy to care. I'm still looking down at the green gown in disgust when there's a soft knock on the door.

"Hey, Sport."

"Jim?"

I grin broadly as he comes into the room and pulls up a chair to sit next to me. He's been at the hospital, visiting me and Sam, every day since I woke up.

"Doc says you're doing good … how ya feeling?"

"Shit, with a side-order of shit … you?"

He chuckles, patting me lightly on my taped up arm. My whole left side is a tribute to highly efficient bandaging skills. I feel like a wrapped up Christmas present. I'm completely immobile, can barely shift to get comfortable before things start to ache.

"I didn't take a nose dive off a cliff, kid."

He's smiling at me, but his eyes are full of a strange sadness. He offers me a few ice-chips from a cup next to my bed, and I swallow them gratefully before I try to focus on him again, blinking a few times, weakness threatening to pull me back into sleep.

"Have you heard anything … bout Sammy?"

My voice is barely a whisper as Jim leans forward in his chair.

"Not yet, but he's holding his own …"

His voice fades out as my traitorous eyes force themselves closed.

"… but I'll keep praying for him … for both of you."

*****

The better part of the next week goes by in a blur of complete hospital boredom. Being bedridden sucks, big time. I use what energy I have to work on my limited mobility with the physiotherapist, memorizing each routine. It hurts like a bitch, each movement a lesson in unbearable pain. I find myself constantly battling not to throw up from the effort. Dad comes through to visit me when he can, encouraging me to work harder, get stronger … it seems to make him happy … so I find myself spending any alone time I have doing those same exercises by myself. I work through the agony, only stopping when the room starts spinning, or black dots start dancing in front of my eyes.

I'm still impossibly weak and I can only manage short sessions before exhaustion finally pulls me into restless sleep. On the anniversary of our accident, one week to the day, the Doc orders me to stop with the physiotherapy, saying that my fever is up and I'm overdoing it. He thinks I need to rest, but I ignore him, still doing those small exercise routines when nobody is around, ignoring the soreness of muscle and bone, while a constant headache has made a permanent home behind my eyes. I need to heal up quickly, can't let Dad leave me behind, can't let him think I'm a burden.

*****

My eyes open to find Dad sitting next to me, a tentative smile on his lips when he notices that I'm awake.

"Hey son, you with me?"

I nod tiredly, thankful for the cool oxygen flowing freely from the tubes into my nose.

"Got some good news for you, Dean-o. Sammy … he's finally woken up, he came out of his coma about an hour ago."

"Oh, thank god, Dad … thank god!"

I sigh, a trembling chuckle passing my lips.

God, the relief those words bring is unbelievable, joy surging through every part of my body, giving me a much needed boost. Waiting around like this, being sick, not in control … it's been killing me … but knowing Sammy is finally awake, it just makes everything better.

"… he also managed to wiggle his toes … the doctor says there isn't any permanent damage … he's just going to need a lot of physical therapy, like you … but he'll be up and around in no time."

Tears well in my eyes at his words, that heavy fear finally lifting from my soul … oh, god, I'm starting to cry, right in front of Dad.

I sniff, swallowing back the tears.

"Let me see him, please, just let me see him."

"Soon, Dean, you just need a bit more time."

For the first time in over a week I sleep peacefully.

*****

"Shit Jim, they told me Sammy regained consciousness, but it's been two days, and they still won't let me up to go and see him. Couldn't I sit in a wheelchair? Can't he sit in a wheel chair – Jim, what's wrong with Sam? I thought he was better …"

"Sam is going to be fine and so are you, but you're not Superman, Dean. You still need to regain your strength, kiddo, you need to take it easy, no matter what you think, you're not ready …"

I can see the concern in his eyes, he's one of our closest friends … and I know he's been worried … but I need to see my brother.

"How can I not be ready to see Sam? It will make me better not worse!"

"Damnit, Dean … we nearly lost you."

"Yeah, well, I'm fine now, and I've had my fill of this." I wave my working hand around in disgust.

To prove a point I tentatively start pushing myself up, grunting, trying to find some leverage. Jim is next to me in an instant, pushing me back down with ease, which only manages to piss me off, big time.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Need to see him."

"Dean … you're not going anywhere, son!" Dad's voice makes me stop instantly, and I grin at him sheepishly as he moves into the room to stand over me.

"Dad? God, it's good to see ya … how is he?"

Dads hand ghosts to my forehead, feeling the heat still radiating from my skin. But it's nothing, just a little fever, the antibiotics will eventually take care of it … I'm pretty sure.

"He's doing really good, kiddo … he's driving me nuts on that side, asking to see you. You two are making your old man crazy, you realize that of course?"

I give him my best 'butter-won't-melt-in-this-mouth' smile. "Can't you bring him in to see me?"

He snorts, shaking his head as he brushes his hand through my damp hair.

"You, young man, just need to concentrate on getting back on your feet. There are things waiting to be hunted … we can't leave them waiting for too long, now can we?"

I shake my head slowly.

"And the sooner you're on your feet, the sooner you can hit the road in your new car."

I grin happily at the thought … I was worried that he may have changed his mind.

Jim clears his throat loudly, giving Dad a stern look, but I can only continue to smile happily, already looking forward to breaking out of this joint.

"John, I think we need to let Dean rest up for a bit, he looks tired."

I cock an eyebrow at Jim's words, not sure what he means, I feel fine as I yawn loudly.

My eyes open again to an empty room. Don't even remember falling asleep. God, must be all this shit they keep pumping into my system. I carefully turn my head to look at the equipment still surrounding me.

It's quiet … and I lie still for a full five minutes before I start getting antsy.

Shit, this is more than I can handle, I've been in bed for over a week, and Sammy's just next door … god, I just want to see him.

I hum 'Eye of the Tiger' as I try to distract myself, making it through to the second verse, before I stop. My eyes dart to the door, my good leg bouncing slightly under the covers in agitation.

Fuckit … I'm going … I need to check on my baby brother … see him with my own two eyes.

I press the button of the auto injector, letting the warm flow of the morphine run through my veins before I even attempt to move. I've been in hospitals more times than I care to remember. We've had to make a few quick get-aways without alerting the medical staff, so disconnecting myself from all the equipment, silently and efficiently, it's like second nature. It takes me a while to remove the leads on my chest from under my gown. I cringe a little before removing the catheter and IV tubes. Ow! Sonnavabitch. I wince, my eyes watering at the sting.

I choke slightly, coughing, as I pull the nose canulla off my face, but finally I'm free … even though I suddenly feel light headed.

I manage to rock myself slowly until I can get onto my right side, pushing with my good arm until I'm seated on the bed, legs dangling. I huff, trying to steady my breathing as the room spins, the urge to throw up hitting me full force as I swallow the sensation back.

Okay, this isn't going to be as easy as I thought … I'm tempted to just fall back … but my need to see Sammy outweighs everything else. After a few minutes, I manage to push myself into a standing position, putting all my weight on my right leg. I keep a steady hand on the bed as I fight to keep my knee locked, can't fall over now.

Pain is shooting up my left arm to my neck, wrapping like a vice around my chest. I take more breaths, it doesn't seem to help … Oh god. Just breathe through it … just breathe.

My left leg is tightly wrapped up, the knee in a secure brace as I test my weight on it. Thanks to the morphine, all I feel is a dull ache, and I find I can manage a hop-shuffle as I make my arduous trek towards the door.

"Please don't let anyone walk in … please don't let anyone walk in."

I'm wheezing by the time I make it to the door, sweat pouring off my body, and suddenly realize there's a breeze where there really shouldn't be one.

My eyes widen in shock. Oh shit. I forgot. My ass is sticking out. Damn hospital gowns.

I reach out behind myself slowly, trying to pull the material as close together as possible. I'm friggin' naked under this stupid thing.

The world starts tilting again as I lean heavily against the wall, my gaze returning to the bed, the bed that suddenly seems miles away. Friggin' hell. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea.

I spare the bed one last longing look before my stubborn Winchester determination takes over and I open the door a little. I nearly fall back, my heart jumping in my throat, as nurses and doctors rush past. I watch them through the slightly ajar door as they go by. Alarms are going off and orders being shouted as they enter a room down the passage. I stick my head out further. The passage is empty. Some poor dude is probably buying the farm, but at least it's giving me a chance to sneak in to Sammy.

The burn of sweat stings my eyes as I push myself along the wall, making my slow progress down the hall. My breathing is ragged and every muscle I possess is aching. I don't want to even know what it's going to feel like when the meds wear off.

I stop to cough, pain radiating through my chest, feeling something pull, but I'm almost there … almost there.

As I shuffle nearer to Sammy's room, I hear the distinct sounds of an argument. It's muffled, low tones … but I've witnessed enough of them to know that Sammy and Dad are having a go at each other.

You've gotta be shitting me.

I lean heavily against the wall, shaking my head slowly. I can't believe those two. They're going to be the death of me. Anger starts blossoming in my chest at Dad, I'm ready to seriously tear into him for arguing with Sammy … the kids just come out of a coma, damnit … there's a time and a place … and now is not it …

I gingerly start moving forward again, keeping a wary eye out for doctors and nurses, anyone who will stop my progress, but luckily there's still nobody in the hallway.

Absently I notice that my gown is wet … there's something soaking my torso, and I glance down at my bare feet, watching stupidly as red splashes of … blood … drip onto the floor. I watch as a small red stain blossoms through the gown near my ribs. Ah shit!

"… you're pushing him too hard …"

Its Sammy's distressed voice I hear clearly first as I finally get to the doorway, the frame acting as a crutch, holding me up as I lean against it with my right shoulder. God, I'm uncomfortably hot … feel sick.

"… he'll do anything you tell him to do Dad … he follows you blindly …"

I freeze. His words hitting me like a kick to the jewels. I desperately try to pull air into my suddenly deflated chest. Crap, I hope I'm not having one of my friggin' panic attacks.

"I don't like your tone, Sam … remember who you're talking to!"

"Yessir … it's just ... the doctor told me he still has a fever … if you carry on pushing him like this … well, it's going to kill him …"

"SAM! Are you telling me that you think I'd willfully endanger Dean's life … goddamnit … I think I know more about his injuries than you do!"

"No sir … but …"

I'm suddenly way beyond angry, at both of them … the weight of the world settling on my sore and weary shoulders … god, I'm so fucking tired of this …

I try to catch my breath again as I feel the room sway and tilt.

Dad thinks I'm a liability, Sammy thinks I follow Dad blindly … I've disappointed them both but for totally different reasons. I can't win, I just can't win. What the hell exactly do I have to do to prove myself to them?

I push away from the door frame, hobbling unsteadily forward, my anger fueling each step I take as I move further into the room, trying to get past the dark curtain blocking my view.

I'm gripping my secured left arm, my chest still aching, in more ways than one, as a vice like grip tries to squeeze the life out of me.

So tired … so damn tired …

I move around the curtain, reaching out at the foot of Sammy's bed to steady myself. I don't miss the brief looks of disappointment they give each other, before my arrival makes them turn, both their eyes widening in shock.

Sammy's voice breaks with concern as our eyes meet. "Shit, Dean, what are you doing here?"

Dad tries to move towards me, but I hold up my hand, stopping him. I can't seem to breathe past the lump in my throat, betrayal more painful than the hurt coursing through my body.

"Dude … you shouldn't be out of bed …"

I just look at them both in disbelief.

"… _he'll do anything you tell him to do_,_ Dad … he follows you blindly …"_

My eyes dart from my brothers pale, stunned face, to my fathers. And I hurt … god I hurt so bad …

"… _if that arm doesn't heal he's going to become a liability on hunts …"_

I fight and I fight for this family … I've given them every thing I can give … and it's still not enough …

"Dean?"

Sam tries to push himself up, tries to reach out for me …

"Dean!"

But I'm sick of fighting … let them fight with each other if they want … to hell with it … they'd probably kill each other without me there as a buffer … but right now, I don't care anymore … I just don't care …

I look at Dad again, the betrayal I feel like an open wound … the will to fight leaving me so suddenly, I almost feel stunned.

"Shit, son … is that blood?"

I glance at my hand stupidly as I move it away from my chest … looking at the red stains on my fingers … before my eyes return to Dads.

"Don't want to fight anymore, Dad … so tired of you two always fighting, please stop… just want to rest …"

My body seems to agree with my thoughts as I feel my knees buckle.

"DEAN?"

They scream in unison … I catch a small glimpse of Dad rushing forward, Sammy trying to reach for me again ... why is the floor so close?

_**TBC**_


	9. Chapter 9

'**Cliffhanger'**

**Chapter 9**

**Notes:** Hi guys, please, please forgive me again for the horrendous delay _*hides head in shame*_ I promise I have legit excuses, but I won't bore you with them all LOL ;) – Thanks to everyone for the awesome reviews, PM's, comments, fav's, alerts and constructive crits. I hope that these final chapters will live up to your expectations. This story is as much for you, as it is for me after all, it's just a bonus that I have fun writing it LOL :)

Also, always thanks to my amazing, patient, cheerleading beta's PADavis, Amarintha and Kelly. And to Wendy for giving me that 'threatening' push that I seriously needed … need to keep my feathers LOL :)

**Warning:** Language

**John's POV**

* * *

"Dean?"

Oh god, I'm next to him in an instant, reaching out, trying to break his fall as he crumples to the floor, a dead weight. My knees hit the cold surface, and I cringe, only managing to half catch him. Thank god he's landed mostly on his right, uninjured side. I carefully lift him up into my arms, the heat of his skin seeping through his gown. Shit, kiddo, what were you thinking? I lightly brush my fingers through his wet hair, my heart thrumming in panic, he's burning up.

"DEAN! … unnn … Dad? Is he okay, what's wrong … Dad?"

Sammy's petrified voice makes me glance up at him. He's trying to lever himself up.

"Sammy, just try to stay calm son, stay still, I've got him."

He still reaches for the call button next to his bed, face scrunching in pain at the effort, while I yell for assistance.

"HELP … I NEED HELP IN HERE!"

"Dean?"

I check to see if he's breathing before tapping his face lightly, his head cradled on my forearm. He doesn't respond. Shit, he looks terrible. I feel my chest tightening with dread as I notice the dark smudges framing his closed eyes. I press my hand over the blood stain spreading on his gown, trying to stop the flow.

"Dad, please … how is he?"

I look up helplessly at Sam, our eyes meeting again, our stupid argument already forgotten.

"I don't know, son …"

Sam's face pales, he's still trying to keep himself up on shaky arms, trying to see Dean with his own eyes. God, I was definitely blessed with two of the world's most stubborn damn kids. And right now I feel like shaking Dean, out of fear and frustration. What kinda stupid ass stunt was this? I'm already making a mental note to kick his ass when he regains consciousness.

I'm mad as hell at him, but right now worry is also starting to settle in my gut. He still hasn't moved. The blood has drained from his face, his freckles more evident, lips slightly parted, breaths rapid and shallow. The sweat glistens on his skin as his body shudders, just before he starts making choking sounds. I quickly turn him, knowing he is going to throw up. I sigh with relief when I notice that there's no blood in the fluids he expels. Thank god for small mercies. I wait apprehensively for his erratic breaths to even out as I gently tap him on the back, his suffering becoming my own.

I look up at Sam again, our eyes filled with the same fears, just as the medical staff rush in.

A nurse kneels down next to us, her fingers going straight to Dean's neck to check his pulse.

"What happened?"

Her question makes me suddenly furious.

"Maybe you should tell me. How is it that my barely recovered son managed to walk all the way to his brother's room, bleeding, without anyone seeing him?"

I know I'm transferring the blame, 'cause I have no doubt that Dean would have snuck past them no matter what. I've trained him, I know how good he is. But my need to vent has me taking out my frustrations on somebody, anybody.

"Um, I … we, it's … well, we just didn't …"

She's stammering and I realize that I'm glaring. I try to soften that look, knowing that it can scare the shit out of marines. The nurse doesn't stand a chance. I don't want her to lose focus. I need to take control of the situation.

"Listen, it doesn't really matter how he got here, we just need to get him back to his room, and see how badly he's injured. Where's Doctor Webber?"

She looks at me in slight panic, the orderlies moving around to help lift Dean out of my arms.

"He's in surgery, Mr. Davis, he'll come through as soon as he can."

I move over to Sammy's side as they settle Dean onto the gurney. The boy's breathing is harsh and fast, he's panicking, still trying to catch a glimpse of his brother.

"Sam, I need you to calm down, son … you need to take slow, even breaths."

He looks at me, nodding his head as he battles to follow my instructions. I adjust the bed slightly to offer him some support, both of us still keeping watch on the activity around Dean, until they wheel him out of the room.

My focus returns to Sam. A nurse has moved over to check on him, noting his elevated heart rate and his trouble breathing. She injects something, I assume a sedative, into his IV. A few minutes later he starts relaxing visibly and I put my hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing, trying to relieve his fears.

"Sam, I know you're scared, but I'll take care of this, I promise you. You need to calm down and try to relax, I'm going across to your brother's room to check on him, okay? I promise I'll come back with news as soon as I know more."

He's taking in small, gulping breaths of oxygen through his mask, his eyes battling to stay open, so he just nods again.

"It will be okay, son, I'm sure he's fine, he just shouldn't have been out of bed yet."

"Need … to be … with him."

"I know … I know."

I can see his energy waning as he tries to speak.

"You think … he heard us arguing, Dad?"

His voice is soft and slurred and I can't help but smile down at my worried son. It amazes me how similar both my boys are, and yet how totally different they can be from each other sometimes. I lightly brush his bangs out of his face. _Kid needs a haircut._

"Maybe, I guess … Sam … I'm not sure …"

I fight down my warring emotions. I'm angry and worried … angry at getting into a fight with my youngest son, and worried at how our fight has affected Dean's wellbeing. Sam and I tend to fight a lot lately, more than usual … probably our similar personalities clashing … we are both such headstrong SOB's.

"I'm sorry too … Dad."

He has this scary ability to read my mind sometimes. I try to clear my uncomfortably tight throat. We don't need to say more, none of us are good at 'tender' moments. With another promise of returning soon with news of Dean, I leave Sam, knowing the medication will help him relax, possibly help him get some much needed sleep.

I walk into Dean's room just as the nurse takes out an ampoule, breaking it between her fingers, and placing it under Dean's nose. I catch a slight whiff of the strong fruity smelling substance, watching Dean's face, but he doesn't react, features still slack.

She frowns, discarding the first ampoule, checking his breathing, then breaking another ampoule, again placing it under Dean's nose. This time his breath hitches slightly, his eyes rolling back showing the whites, but he still doesn't regain consciousness. I walk further into the room, concerned at his reaction.

"What is that?"

She doesn't look at me as she checks his stats.

"It's something that's supposed to help him regain consciousness. We use it when patients pass out. After inhaling an ampoule or two, they usually wake up."

I look at her stupidly.

"So why hasn't he woken up yet?"

She turns to look at me then, the worry in her eyes making me extremely nervous.

"I don't know."

A few minutes later Doctor Webber comes rushing in.

"Just came out of surgery, got the message, what happened?"

The nurse gives him all the details while he starts checking on Dean. They've already removed his gown, covered him with a blanket, and the doc starts by carefully removing the blood stained gauze. The blood seems to be seeping from the surgical wound. From here it looks like he's torn the stitches. Shit, son, that's gotta hurt. I shake my head at his stubbornness. I don't know where he gets that from, probably Mary's side of the family.

The doctor's assessment seems to be the same as mine, because he asks one of the nurses for a suture kit. I listen to him rattling off orders and asking urgent questions, while he cleans the wound, probing and prodding, before neatly and efficiently re-stitching it.

"The patient lost consciousness next door, I gave him two ampoules of Amyl Nitrite to revive him. He hasn't shown any signs of responding."

Doctor Webber's eyes widen and he immediately leans over Dean, checking his pupils and listening to his heart and lungs. I keep my focus on my sons still, sweat glistened face.

"Damnit, if you couldn't get hold of me, you should have called Doctor DeMarco. Giving him Amyl Nitrite was a mistake."

The nurse pales visibly and I can feel the color leave my own face, as I come to stand next to Dean, looking at the doc apprehensively. But he ignores me for the moment, his full attention on his patient. I watch him, anger building in my chest at the nurse standing beside me, but also not wanting to interrupt the doctor as he works. I bite my tongue, knowing I can trust this man. He knows what he's doing, and he'll make sure Dean is alright, no matter what, I have no doubt of that.

"BP's 90 over 60. We have decreased breath sounds so let's get him back on a hundred percent oxygen. His heartbeat is slightly irregular and we have some discoloration of his lips and fingernails. I want him on a 24 hour watch, and monitor him for infection. We may need to take him back to ICU if he starts getting worse."

I settle next to Dean, watching as one of the nurses runs a cool cloth over his heated skin. Everyone works around us as I take his warm, slack hand into my own.

"…check for blood clots …"

I lift his hand to my lips briefly, then rest my forehead against it, watching his closed eyes, still hoping they will open any second.

"… need to get this fever down as soon as possible ..."

The buzz of activity eventually slows down, and I look up at the doctor again, making notes on Dean's chart, frowning.

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Yeah."

He looks at me then, and tries to give me a reassuring smile.

"I'm sorry John, I didn't mean to scare you. He's seems okay for now, stable. We're going to take him through for an x-ray again, just to make sure he hasn't damaged anything with the fall."

They've hooked Dean up to all the equipment again, and I feel slightly comforted by the soft sound of his heartbeat from the monitors.

"What was that stuff the nurse gave him?"

"Amyl nitrite … it's a type of vasodilator. It relaxes the blood vessels, increasing the blood and oxygen supply to the heart. But if you have low blood pressure, like Dean has at the moment … it's not something I would recommend."

I nod, watching each precious and shallow breath my son pulls into his lungs.

"I need to tell you that Dean's reaction to the Amyl Nitrite has me a bit worried. It's been used in cases like this before, but from the tests I've run, Dean seems to be very susceptible to allergic reactions. It will be good for you to know this information in future, and we can put it on his medical record. We'll do more extensive and conclusive tests when he's completely healed. But the effects of the drug should wear off shortly, and shouldn't be life threatening."

I find myself sighing, smiling wanly at Webber. The problem is that both my boys never have any real medical records, not that we can keep track of. Not without raising suspicions. I make a mental note to try and get my hands on that list before we leave. I suddenly feel exhausted, my usually dormant emotions have been pushed to their limits.

He leaves us then, promising to check back with us shortly, while I continue to just sit quietly with Dean, counting the minutes.

When a nurse comes in again, she confirms that Sam is finally sleeping, and she promises to call me when he wakes up. I find myself continuously torn between sitting with Sam or Dean, both of them needing me right now, and that's unfamiliar territory. Dean usually takes care of everyone, everything … he takes care of me, of Sammy. I gently massage the inside pad of his thumb.

My strong boy is suddenly so weak, and I know now, more than ever, that I can't let something like this ever happen again. Maybe if I had prepared them better, trained them harder, we wouldn't be in this situation now. I'll have to rectify that when they're both well. They need to be stronger, they need to be the best hunters out there … I can't and won't risk losing them … and training them is the only way I can protect them.

I swallow the lump in my throat. God, this has to have been the longest week of my life. I nearly lost my boys, and that's just unacceptable. The thought still leaves me feeling sick. To make matters worse, Sam has started questioning the way I've been treating Dean, questioning my methods, my authority. I've been trying to encourage both of them to recover quicker, and apparently that isn't sitting well with Sam. His questions and doubts are what started the argument, and I should have been wise enough to just let go. I shake my head slowly at the memory. I wonder at myself sometimes. When did I become such a hard son of a bitch?

I brush my hand gently up and down Dean's arm. Goddamnit, he nearly died on that mountain, in that helicopter, and again in the ER. Sammy … Sammy nearly died a few days later, when his heart stopped … he was still in a coma. I didn't tell Dean. Didn't want him stressing himself sick, which he would have done if he had known what Sammy's condition truly was.

I remember waking up to the sounds of alarms, before being pushed out of the way, alone in the corner of the room as they worked frantically over my Sam, the feeling of déjà vu … made the whole experience feel unreal. The four minutes of chest compressions before he started to respond might as well have been forty years. The noises, the sounds … those memories, they never leave me, probably never will, and they haunt my dreams when I do manage to sleep. It was one of the reasons I didn't want him to go see his brother, not yet. They're both still too weak, too vulnerable for a relapse.

I snort at the realization that keeping them apart was apparently not such a great idea either, because they've both taken a step back in their recovery because of the separation. They are so close, working, training, hunting as a team, day in and day out, they need to be together. Their close bond is what makes them that much stronger. I'll speak to Doctor Webber, see if I can get them into the same room.

An hour later I'm standing outside, chatting to a worried Bobby on my cell. I give him a rundown on the boy's conditions, and he insists that when they are ready to leave, that we come and stay with him, so the kids can continue their recovery at his place. I find I'm grateful for his offer. We've never really had a place to call home, not since Lawrence, and Bobby's pad is the closest thing we've got.

I tell him that the doctor said that both boys will probably be out be out of commission for at least twelve weeks. That thought worries me a bit, knowing I'll have to leave them behind again, hunt on my own.

"It's a miracle that either of those kids are even alive, ya realize?"

His words hit me hard.

"I know, Bobby … and I'm grateful … you'll never know how much."

There's a short silence, before his gruff voice answers.

"I do know, John, and I know you love ya boys in your own stubborn way … but you need to have patience with them, if you even remember how."

His words are harsh, but I know that he means well, even if my face is flaring red in agitation. I'll need his help … so I won't start a fight.

"I'll have everything ready when ya get here … just don't rush them."

I snort. The bastard knows me well, even if I don't say anything, he's still able to read me like a book. It's the cause of the numerous fights we have with each other. _He knows me too damn well._

I finish the call, deciding to try and find Doctor Webber again and make some changes to the separate rooms arrangement. I find him next to the coffee machine. He pours me a cup as well as we move over to the doctor's lounge, sneaking me in as we sit down on the nearest sofa.

"You still look like shit, John. You been getting any rest?"

"Yeah, a few hours here and there … it's kinda hard to rest right now."

He chuckles, nodding his head in understanding, before taking a sip of his own coffee. He looks at me, just as I'm about to open my mouth, holding up his hand as he swallows.

"Before you ask, there's no change, the x-rays came back fine, but Dean is still non-responsive. It has us a bit concerned that he hasn't woken up yet, but I'm sure he just needs the rest. We don't see any medical reason why he shouldn't wake up soon."

I put my cup down on the table, rubbing my hands over my face tiredly as I sigh. God, when will this fucking nightmare end?

"Just have faith, John."

I want to laugh at him then. Faith? I'm so sick of hearing that word.

I reach for my own coffee once more, letting the heat of it warm my cold hands as Doctor Webber continues.

"You also need to remember that it's going to take time, a lot of it, and they both need to recuperate at their own pace. You can't push them on this, it will only hamper their recoveries if you try."

Guilt gnaws at my gut. I admit that my own worries and fears probably made me push too hard, but I'm so used to my kids following my orders, without question, that sometimes I forget that they are just kids, not soldiers ... not yet.

I remember to ask Webber about moving the boys, and he tells me that he doesn't foresee any problems having Sam transferred into Dean's room. He says he will make the necessary arrangements once Sam is awake. We finish off our coffee before the doc goes to do his rounds. I make my way back to Sammy's room. He's still asleep as I pull up a chair to sit next to him. Watching him rest, watching him heal … it's kinda therapeutic.

"Hey, old man."

I look up at Jim's ugly mug. He has some nerve calling me old. I smile tiredly as he enters the room, watching him draw up a chair to sit next to me. He's one of my oldest and closest friends, one of the very few people I trust with my life, with my boys' lives.

"How you holding up?"

I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees.

"Okay, I guess."

He sits back, arms folded, enjoying the moment of silent companionship. He has a calmness that surrounds him, and I feel myself relaxing slightly. My hand is resting on Sammy's arm, my thumb tracing a thin scar, one of many, along the inside of his arm, traveling up to his elbow. I remember stitching that wound.

"A wise man once said 'God will not look you over for medals, degrees or diplomas, but for scars'."

I snort slightly at his comment. He always manages to dish out some sort of 'words of wisdom' crap at the slightest opportunity. I look at him over my shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips. He knows how much his 'fortune cookie' philosophy irritates me. He does it on purpose, the self-righteous bastard.

Jim and I have a no nonsense kind of friendship, he always tells me the truth, no matter what, and I return the favor. His next words are soft, laced with a truth that I cannot and never will accept.

"This life … it's not cut out for everybody, John. Dean, he relishes the adventure, the danger … but it won't last forever …"

I frown at him but he's not put off by my look.

"… and Sam, he'll eventually leave … and you'll have to let him go."

It sounds like he's stating a fact, and suddenly I'm pissed off, my voice strains as I try to maintain my calm.

"What the hell are you going on about, Jim? That will never happen, you know it as well as I do. The one thing I do have faith in, my friend … the one thing I know with a hundred percent certainty, is that even if Sam gives up on me, he will never leave Dean. Ever."

Jim doesn't respond. Just sits there, all calm, while my stomach knots. I shake my head again before rubbing my hands over my tired eyes. He's mistaken. He has to be.

I lean back, imitating his posture, letting my head fall back, my neck popping, closing my eyes briefly and sighing, before rolling my head sideways to look at Jim's stoic profile. I'm pissed, and he knows it.

He's a pastor and damn fine hunter, working from his church in Blue Earth, Minnesota. He's had a rough time of it, worse than most of us. When he was just nine years old, his mother tried to drown him and his brother. His brother and mother died in the incident, but he survived, 'miraculously' as he calls it. He gained the unenviable ability to make the dead come to him. He's done it before, done it for me before, when I needed to see Mary after she died. It's not a pleasant memory, one I've tried to forget … but it's this knowledge of him that makes his next words devastating to hear.

"John …"

He's still calm, eyes focusing on the opposite wall of the room. I grunt in response.

"… I need to tell you something, and what I'm about to say, it's probably gonna freak you out, more than you already are. So I need you to promise to keep it together, for Sam's sake."

God, I hate it when he starts a conversation like this.

"For …," _I almost say Christ, but he gives me a knowing look_, "… _heavens_ sake Jim, just spit it out already."

He looks at me then, the sincerity in his eyes only lending credence to his words.

"When I left Dean's room … I could feel a presence …"

My heart immediately starts hammering in my chest.

"… I could feel … death …"

As his words and their meaning sink in, I start shaking my head in denial. My voice becomes a frantic whisper as Sam starts stirring restlessly in his sleep.

"No … no Jim … not a fucking Reaper? Goddamnit, don't say that, please, please, don't say it!"

The look on his face confirms my fears. I know he wouldn't tell me something like this, unless he was a hundred percent certain.

"Oh god … oh god …"

"John, listen to me …"

His steady hand reaches out to rest on my shoulder.

"We at least know it's there … I've already blessed the room, and prayed with Dean … we can add some protection spells and sigils if you think it will help, but you have to have faith … this is something Dean's going to have to fight … alone."

Shit, there's that damn word again … faith … I only have faith in what I know. Knowledge, everything I've learnt over all these years as a hunter, it's in my journal. Hard facts. That's where my faith lies.

I push myself up then, glancing quickly at my restless son, my mind instantly made up. I'm not going to let Dean die, and I sure as shit won't let some reaper take him away from me. I march out of the room, vaguely noticing Jim rushing after me, trying to keep up.

"John … shit … wait-up."

My mind is already working overtime.

"Jim, I need you to do something for me …"

I'm walking ahead, I don't look back.

"John? Wait!"

"I'm going to the Impala, should have the things I need there … "

He grabs my arm, spinning me around as we stop, his eyes boring into mine.

"Damnit, wait! What are you doing? What do you want to do?"

I look at him confused. Isn't it obvious?

"I want you to bind Dean's soul to his body."

His face pales slightly in shock at my statement.

"John … shit … you don't know what you're asking."

"Yes I do. I want you to bind Dean's soul to his body. I have the binding ritual in my journal. It will give him a fighting chance, no opportunity for that reaper to take him away. He can rest, let his body heal …"

Jim is shaking his head, incredulous.

"John … you know what will happen … if …"

Fury burns in me again … damnit, I'm in charge … Dean is my son, I'll do what's best for him.

"Nothing's going to happen, just do as I tell you."

"No John, I won't … you hear me? Listen, if you bind Dean's soul to his body and he dies …"

I push Jim with such force then, up against the wall, my arm pressed against his throat, muscles straining as I try to control my anger. He coughs, face going a bit red, but he doesn't fight back. I spit the words out, my face inches from his.

"He's not going to die, you hear me … he's not going to die! Not if I have anything to say about it!"

He pushes at my arm, and I release him. He looks at me through hooded eyes, rubbing at his throat.

"… you can get as mad at me as you want, but it won't change a thing. A binding ritual will trap Dean's soul in his body, with no means of escape if he dies … _if he dies_ … you know it, John, you know his soul won't find peace … you'll have to salt and burn him like those spirits you hunt … can you do that, can you do that to your own son?"

My legs refuse to hold me up any longer, and I fall to my knees, Jim quickly kneeling in front of me. My voice breaking.

"Jim … please … I don't know how else to help him … you do this for me … you do this …"

I sob then, uncontrollably, feeling his comforting hand on my back.

"… please."

"I can't. I won't. I love those boys as much as you do, and doing this, choosing this road, it's the worst punishment you could wish on anyone, let alone your own son. If, God forbid, something does happen, then eventually, doing this, it will turn him … change him into one of the things that you hunt."

Deep down I know he's right, and that only makes me feel worse, but I nod slowly. He carefully helps me to my feet, maneuvering us over, sitting us down on the nearest chairs. He clamps his hand firmly behind my neck, forcing me to look into his eyes.

"We've been friends for many years, John, you know I have your best interests at heart, right?"

"Yeah … I do … but I'm losing him, Jim … god, I just got him back, I can't … I just can't …."

"I know. But you have to leave his recovery in the hands of God now."

I look at him, my eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"I don't know if I have the strength to do that."

I rub at my eyes, sniffing loudly, as I finally push myself up. Damnit, I need to pull it together. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I try to get my thoughts in order, okay, we'll try it Jim's way. I'll leave it in God's hands for now, I'll trust in Dean's fighting spirit … but if anything happens to my boy … anything … I'll break down the gates of heaven and hell to save him. And nobody will stop me.

We walk back to Sam's room, an uncomfortable silence between us. I find Doctor Webber waiting for us in Sam's room. Sam's awake, the panic evident on his face.

"John, please, you need to follow me … Dean's condition is deteriorating."

I lose my voice, looking from Sam to the doc in disbelief.

"Dad, please … you need to take me to Dean now!"

Webber nods his head in agreement, which scares me. Is it his way of saying that Sam needs to say goodbye? I'm still staring blankly at him, listening to him organizing for Sam to be transferred to his brother's room as quickly as possible. Jim thankfully stays with Sam, while I immediately follow the doc.

The sight that greats us makes my heart sink. They're trying to hold Dean down as he convulses violently on the bed. The monitors and equipment add to the frantic noises as they try to stabilize him. His fevered body fights against the people trying to save him, each breath a battle, sweat pouring from his body. I move further into the room, watching and waiting nervously, until finally his body starts succumbing to the endless rounds of medication they are pumping into his system. The convulsions thankfully stop, only slight trembling of his limbs remaining, his eyes moving restlessly behind closed lids. His chest is still heaving as I move over next to him, lifting his clammy hand into my own. I lean forward to whisper into his ear, not knowing if he can hear me, let alone understand what I'm saying.

"Please, Dean … be strong, son … fight damnit. Sammy's on his way, he'll be here with you any minute … you need to hold on kiddo. Please, just hold on."

_**TBC – final chapter Sammy's POV**_


	10. Chapter 10

'**Cliffhanger'**

**Chapter 10 **

**Notes:** Wow guys, I'm totally speechless (which, if you know me, is almost an impossibility LOL). The response to this little fic has been absolutely phenomenal and I'm so humbled by your wonderful generosity. Thanks to every single one of you for your wonderful reviews, PM's, fav's and alerts. So here it finally is, chapter 10 - I hope it rounds off the story the way I imagined, and hopefully the way you imagined … and as always, please enjoy ;)

Once again, sorry for the heinous delay … I have been suffering from the worst case of writers block and if it weren't for my support team … this chapter may never have happened LOL ;) – so thanks to my wonderfully talented, cheerleading and generous beta's Phoebe, Amarintha and Kelly, who've been trying to keep me commonsensical. Extra thanks to SciFiRN for her amazing medical knowledge, Wendy and her infamous 'feather plucker' to threaten my muse with and Lizz, your awesome on-set photo's totally made my day!

_(Just a small reminder for those who have asked, Sam is 17, Dean almost 22)_

**Warning:** Language

**Sammy's POV**

* * *

Dean?

Oh god … I have to get to him … have to be with him. He needs me.

My legs are cramping slightly as I watch the nurses unhook me from the monitors and equipment. I squint as they remove the leads on my chest; my head still throbbing mercilessly as I absently rub at my forehead. The right side of my face is tender, but at least now I can finally see through my swollen black eye.

Jim has a steadying hand on my shoulder, but his face is full of concern, which fills me with unimaginable dread. I suck air through my teeth, oxygen mask still covering my face, the panicky feeling becoming more intense as each second passes.

What the hell is taking so long?

"Hold on, Sam, we'll be with him shortly, kid, just take it easy."

I give Jim a shaky smile, hot tears starting to burn behind my eyes. I hurt all over and I feel sick with anxiety, and not for the first time I notice that my hands are fisted tightly in the sheets. I try to relax, a steady mantra playing in my head.

_Don't let him die … please … please._

I take another shuddering breath. I'm the reason this happened … Dean wouldn't be here if it weren't for me. He sacrifices everything for me, everything … and I won't, I can't let saving me be his final sacrifice … I can't live with that … I need him too much.

I fight the frustration as I watch them unhook the IV bag. God, could they go any slower?

It seems stupid, but I have a strong feeling that being near Dean will somehow make things right, help him get better. We've been close our whole lives **… **Dean has always been more than just a brother to me. He's been my teacher, my protector, and the father Dad never was. That's what makes this so hard, knowing that his sudden downhill turn is probably my fault, mine and Dad's. Damnit. Maybe if we hadn't been arguing again … maybe if Dad had been with Dean instead of with me … god, I remember that look on his face … the look of betrayal. I bite my lip, trying to stop the trembling. Why is it that every time Dad and I fight, Dean seems to be the one who gets the raw end of the deal?

My thoughts are interrupted as they thankfully start pushing the bed out, Jim's hand still resting on my arm as we make our way down the passage. It feels like an eternity, but they finally wheel me into Dean's room, my eyes immediately locking onto his shivering form, my throat tightening.

The doc is listening to Dean's lungs with a stethoscope and I'm finally able to see some of Dean's injuries. His darkly bruised chest is expanding weakly as he gasps in each labored breath. Doctor Webber is talking to Dad, but they both look up as I enter. Dad's eyes fix on mine for a brief second, and I can see the intense fear that he isn't even trying to hide from me anymore.

Oh god … is it that bad?

Doctor Webber is talking, and I try to listen while at the same time watching my brother for any signs of consciousness.

"Thankfully his lungs are still clear … we'll keep monitoring him, John … he's not out of the woods yet."

I'm getting more anxious and impatient as they move me closer to set my bed up next to my brother, my left arm stretching out to make contact, but he's still irritatingly out of my reach.

My eyes roam over his shivering form. Most of his body is still covered in bandages and dressings. His damaged knee is cushioned on a pillow, the brace encasing and stabilizing the break in his leg. Every bit of his body I can see is covered in a fine sheen of sweat - a blanket is loosely draped over his lower body, but I'm sure he's sweating under there too. I pull at the oxygen mask covering my face, letting it drop next to me as I wheeze.

"Dean? Dean?"

I try to push myself up again, leaning over, but Jim still has a firm hand on me, hampering my progress.

"Easy, Sam … let them work."

Dad has moved out of the way with Webber as they set up the equipment around my bed. But my attention is completely focused on Dean, who still isn't responding to my desperate pleas.

"Please, Dean … open your eyes."

Fear is making me reckless as I stretch over, trying to reach his arm, I need that solid connection, hissing as pain flares up my back. Dad moves to the foot of my bed, his hand settling on my leg, his voice gentle but stern.

"Sam, you need to calm down, son. I don't think he can hear you."

"Why, Dad? What's wrong with him, why isn't he waking up?"

Dad looks at me nervously, almost like he doesn't want to answer.

"He's very sick, kiddo, the high fever is draining him, making him weaker and they're still trying to get his blood pressure back up."

I shake my head in confusion, my voice breaking as I look at my brother, god, he looks awful. He looks like he's … no … no, I won't accept that.

"I thought he was getting better! Did getting out of bed do this to him?"

The orderly shifts our beds closer and I instantly reach over to grip my brother's wrist, feeling the fluttering pulse beneath my fingers. His skin is so warm, too warm.

"It's not uncommon for patients to suddenly deteriorate postoperatively, Sam, but Dean is strong, he'll pull through this."

I look at Webber, swallowing painfully while still gently squeezing Dean's wrist, trying to relay some of my own strength to him with that touch. The haunting memories of the unmarked grave are still flashing through my mind.

"He's going to be okay though, right?"

The sad looks I'm getting from everyone make me want to scream in frustration and denial. I choose to ignore them, instead returning my full attention to Dean. I won't give up on him.

"You need to fight … please**,** Dean … I know you're tired, but you can do this."

The doc moves quietly out into the passage with Dad, talking in muted tones, probably so I won't hear. I'm getting seriously pissed**.** I have a right to know what's wrong with my brother, so I strain to listen in on their conversation.

"… effects of the Amyl Nitrate … out of his system … supportive treatment …"

My eyes move to Jim, he's also watching the exchange, listening in.

"… nurse … reprimanded … launching a formal inquiry ..."

My brow furrows. Nurse? Formal inquiry? What the hell is he talking about? I grunt as I try to shift myself into a more comfortable position, my back spasming from the awkward angle I'm lying in. My legs aren't co-operating either, they still feel slightly numb. Jim meets my gaze**,** he knows I've heard, glancing uncertainly towards Dad again.

"What's going on, Jim, what happened, what aren't they telling me?"

He sighs, his hand coming to rest on my forehead.

"Damnit, kiddo, your Dad is probably going to tear me a new one for doing this, still I think it's best you know … just promise to stay calm, okay?"

I nod. I'm so far from calm right now, swallowing nervously as he continues.

"Both you and your brother's injuries are very serious. Dean also had a first rib fracture which was severe … in fact, the trauma you boys suffered was extensive. We nearly lost you both."

I nod my head again, he's not revealing anything new to me. I've been harassing the medical staff and Dad on Dean's condition ever since I woke up. I know exactly what injuries we've both sustained.

"Well Dean also had a bit of a reaction to some medication he was given after he collapsed in your room."

My heart nearly stops … god, it wasn't penicillin, I told them … oh shit, at least I think I did … was I dreaming it? Did I dream telling them about Dean's reaction? But the doc mentioned Amyl-something-or-other, they said it was out of his system. My throat is suddenly dry.

"What they gave him aggravated his symptoms, messed with his blood pressure … but that's not the only reason for your brother's condition now."

I take a steadying breath, my thumb has automatically started making circles over the top surface of Dean's hand.

"Sam … it's almost as if Dean has lost his will to live. He's not fighting."

I look at Jim stupidly for a moment, blinking.

"What? Dean would never, ever give up. He's a fighter – his whole life, Jim. He's a fighter!"

But Jim's voice is eerily calm, and I know … I know what he's saying must be true. But why? How could things possibly have become so bad in such a short time?

"He's tired, Sam … and his body's weak … that combination … it's why …"

He stops, looking at me nervously, not sure if he should continue.

"… it's why a reaper has latched onto him …"

My eyes widen in shock at his confession.

"A reaper?"

Oh shit … the implications hit home with full force. How am I supposed to fix this? How do I fight death? I suddenly find I can't breathe. I try desperately to pull oxygen into my lungs, panic setting in as I feel my throat and chest tighten. I hear Jim calling for the doctor, urging me to calm down. But I can't calm down … there's a _reaper_ and it's after my brother … god, what do I do? I watch as Dad and Doctor Webber rush to my side, my chest cramping as I struggle to regain control, eyes scrunching shut as I huff in each desperate breath.

"Goddamnit**,** Jim, what the hell did you tell him?"

"Everything … he needs to know**, **John … he may be the only one who can get through to Dean now."

"Sonnavabitch …"

Dad pushes past Jim, sitting on the bed next to me, his hand instantly on my chest, making soothing circles … circles that still have a calming effect on me.

"Sammy, take it easy, OK? Breathe easy … that's it."

"It's okay … I'm okay."

I groan, my lungs aching**,** as Doctor Webber injects something into my IV. God, I hope it's not something to knock me out … I need to be awake, need to keep an eye on Dean … protect him.

"You okay there, kiddo?"

I nod my head tiredly as I catch my breath, glancing at Dean. Tears start clouding my vision as I watch one of the nurses come in to wipe him down with a cool cloth before adjusting a few gel packs against his heated skin.

"Sam, are you sure you're okay? Are you in any pain?"

I shake my head as the doc checks me over worriedly.

"Okay … I know this is a lot for you to handle right now, but I don't want you over exerting yourself or getting upset … I'll sedate you if I have to. You're still healing and I don't want anything else jeopardizing your recovery … understand?"

I give him a slight nod. The doc has a no nonsense attitude that reminds me a lot of Dad. He moves over to check on Dean again, a stern look on his face. When he's satisfied that we're both stable, he leaves to order more test results from the lab. I finally have a few moments alone to talk to Jim and Dad. My throat is aching as I try to find my voice.

"There must be something we can do … how do we help Dean fight this?"

Jim is standing by the window, ignoring the dirty looks Dad keeps throwing his way.

"There's no answer to your question Sam … I've been through this with your Dad already, there isn't much we can do. The only person who can defeat this thing is Dean**,** and he needs to make a choice. He has to want to live and find the will to return to us."

Dad is pacing near the foot of my bed, but he stops to glare at Jim again.

"Jim … so help me …"

I can see Dad is on the verge of blowing a fuse, I know that look, so I try to contain the situation.

"It's okay**,** Dad, I'm okay ... I just need to know the truth."

My words are full of conviction but I'm still in serious denial, I don't want to believe that Dean would leave me, not on purpose. But having a life sucking force like a reaper in the room certainly isn't helping, and there's no denying the fact that I'm watching my big brother deteriorate before my eyes.

From what I know of reapers, they can't be killed … you can't kill death. The only way to help Dean is to give him a reason to live, to fight ... and there's only one thing that I know with a certainty Dean will fight for, one thing that he is the most afraid of losing … me.

Dad and Jim have started a heated debate on how to deal with this situation, hissing at each other as they try to keep their voices low and their tempers in check. I turn my head carefully to look at Dean's profile, watching silently as sweat pools at the base of his throat, his erratic pulse fluttering wildly in his neck. He suddenly starts moaning softly, eyes darting restlessly behind closed lids. I squeeze his wrist in encouragement, watching with surprised relief as his eyelids flutter, and then slowly open.

"Dean?"

My voice is so soft that even I barely hear it. I'm watching his every movement, hoping he'll turn his head and look at me. I squeeze his wrist again, trying to get his attention, but his glassy gaze is staring at some point above him. His lips are moving soundlessly, like he's trying to speak, his brow furrowed in confusion. Something feels terribly wrong.

"Dad?"

He doesn't answer, the argument with Jim is becoming more heated, Jim insisting that Dad is a hot-headed-sonnavabitch and Dad insisting Jim is a holier-than-thou-moron, so I turn my head to look at him, his eyes are blazing, face red. I try again.

"Dad, I think he's awake."

He finally hears me, his eyes quickly following mine to Dean, and he instantly moves over to his side. Dean doesn't seem to notice though, his gaze tracking something, something only he can see. Jim seems to understand what is happening before we do.

"Oh god … I think he can see it …"

Dad's eyes widen, he knows as well as I do what Jim means. He desperately clamps his hand behind Dean's neck, leaning forward.

"Dean … look at me, son … you keep your eyes on me … there's nothing there, you hear … it's just me and Sammy, kiddo … _look_ _at me_, Dean."

He doesn't respond to Dad's voice, lost to his own fevered visions and I can feel it, actually feel him losing his tentative grip on life, but I won't let him.

Dad has gently clamped his fingers on Dean's stubbled jaw, turning his head slightly to try and get his attention, but Dean doesn't see him, sightless eyes staring straight ahead, a deep frown on his face, uneven breaths wisping past his dry lips.

Dad turns to Jim for help, their argument forgotten.

"Damnit, what do I do?"

Jim is rubbing his forehead as he tries to think, but we all know that there isn't anything we can do. As much as I hate admitting it, this is Dean's battle … and even though I'd do anything to fight it for him … knowing that I can't leaves me feeling helpless and frustrated. Dad looks around the room challengingly, almost like he's hoping to somehow see the invisible force that is threatening to take Dean away from us.

"YOU STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM MY SON!"

Dad's sudden loss of control makes me jerk in surprise, staring at him in wide eyed shock. He pulls Dean closer into a half embrace, burying Dean's face against his chest, seeming to breathe in the scent of him. He holds onto my brother in silent desperation, like he can somehow keep him rooted to life. He's crying softly, his voice strained and I bite my trembling lip, my hand holding onto Dean's with the same desperation.

"You hear me? You sonnavabitch … you can't have him … you can't have him!"

Dad wraps his arms carefully behind and around Dean, his eyelids fluttering as tremors continue to run through his feverish body. Dad holds onto him like a lifeline, his choked sobs bringing tears to my own eyes. I don't think I've ever seen Dad cry like this. Dean says that when Mom died, he remembers Dad weeping, when he thought Dean was asleep and couldn't hear. I don't remember Mom, so losing her was never as painful to me as it was for Dad and Dean … but if I lose my brother now … I can already feel the hollowness that grief evokes deep inside my soul. I've never lost someone I love … the heart broken feelings from my vision suddenly bombarding me … I can't lose Dean.

I blink, letting my tears fall next to me on my pillow. Jim has started moving around the room, placing religious and ancient sigils at each corner, incanting something under his breath which I assume is a blessing, trying in his own unique way to ward off the reaper.

After a few minutes, he finally moves over to put his hand on Dad's shoulder. Dad lifts his head wearily, eyes red and puffy, but he's already pulled himself together, that ever present determined look back on his face.

"I don't feel it in the room anymore**,** John, but it will return. Those sigils won't keep it away forever, but at least for now it will give Dean some time. I hope he's strong enough to fight, find his way back."

Jim always has a calming effect on the people around him … on Dean**,** too**,** apparently, because he seems to settle when Jim's hand rests on his forehead, his eyes finally closing as he slips back into unconsciousness.

"Thanks**,** Jim …"

Dad's voice is rough with emotion, a silent look passes between them as he scrubs at his face, letting his hand trail to his chin. He's shaking slightly, and for the first time I realize how tired he must be. The obvious stress he is under evident in the deep lines on his forehead and the dark smudges under his eyes.

"Sammy, Jim's gonna stay with you for a while. I need to do some research, find Doctor Webber … try and get some answers … you just rest, son, you look tired. Jim will keep an eye on you and Dean while you sleep."

"I don't want to sleep, Dad."

My stifled yawn betrays my words, and Dad grins down at me as he stands up to leave.

"I know**,** kiddo … but if you want to close your eyes for a few minutes, you can. Jim will be here … he'll protect you both."

I nod, exhaustion finally catching up with me. I watch Dad leave, wanting him to stay, wanting him to give me some much needed reassurances … but knowing he won't. Jim pulls up a chair to sit next me. My heavy eyes lock on Dean's face again, watching the sweat trickle down his fevered brow, short breaths racing in rhythm with his heart monitor, too fast. I lose the battle to keep my eyes open, a soft whisper on my lips as I'm pulled into weary sleep.

"_Dean … don't you dare … don't you dare leave us!"_

It's a soft droning voice that wakes me. I blink owlishly as I try to focus, trying to find Dad, but it's Jim who is standing next to Dean's bed, head bowed, open bible in his one hand.

I watch him mutely for a second, trying to connect what my eyes are seeing with reality, fear instantly gripping my heart when I realize what he's doing. He's anointing Dean's forehead with blessed oil, praying, "Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit."

He moves to Dean's hands, the prayer still on his lips, "May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up".

Sick awareness dawns on me. It's the _Extreme Unction_, the final anointing. He's giving Dean last rites.

"No …" My voice is a strained whisper.

"Through this holy unction and His own most tender mercy may the Lord pardon thee whatever sins or faults thou hast committed by sight, by hearing …"

"NO! NO! What are you doing … stop, Jim … don't!"

"Sam …"

I'm leaning up on one shaky elbow, I'm too tired to fight, my body feels heavy and weak, but I won't let him give Dean last rites … we're not giving up on him … ever.

"Please**,** Jim … just don't …"

My arm collapses and I fall back, huffing from the effort. He looks at me wordlessly, nodding in understanding, his hand gently squeezing my shoulder. I know he's doing this as a precaution, trying to protect Dean's soul, it's part of his job being a pastor, so I'm not mad at him. But Dean's not going to die, I won't let him. I fight to stay awake, I try really hard, but everything, the last few hours of worry, my own injuries, it's all caught up with me, taken its toll and I can feel the tears running down my cheeks unbidden as I fall back into medicated sleep.

I dream of beautiful woods with tall grass and fields of white crosses … loneliness and heartbreak settling heavily in my aching chest.

When I eventually open my eyes again, it's to look straight into Dean's lifeless gaze.

The world stops.

"Dean … oh god …"

In that millisecond**,** I nearly lose myself forever … I failed him … but then he blinks, and my heart suddenly starts again. Shit! … I would chuckle if I weren't scared out of my wits right now. I look around the room, we're alone … the laminated numbers from the wall clock say 3am.

I move, turning slowly and carefully to face Dean, shifting to try and get more comfortable. I notice just how flushed his skin is, he's still fighting off the fever, every breath a tentative link to life. But at least he's looking at me … recognition in his dull eyes … and something else … something that immediately fills me with intense dread. I'm looking into his soul … I know … I can feel it, and it feels like a part of me is dying. He's giving up.

His lips move then, his speech slightly slurred.

"Smm … can't …"

Apprehension flows through me like adrenalin and suddenly I don't want to hear his voice … don't want to hear his next words.

"… can't … hold on."

And there it is, the manifestation of all my worst fears … and god … I'll be damned if he isn't looking to me for forgiveness. My heart rips inside my chest.

"Don't you say that … please Dean … you can hold on … I know you can …"

"Sammy … s' okay …"

I shake my head, almost unable to speak … angry, hot tears trailing down my face.

"No … no, it's not … it will never be okay … you hear me Dean … NEVER."

"Sammy … please …"

It's a final plea, and I realize sickly that he's also asking for my permission.

"… please, let me … go."

He's so tired, I know it, can see it in every line on his face … but I can't, I can't give him this. I can't give him the peace he's longing for now … cause if he leaves me, if he dies … he'll take me with him.

"NO!"

Unshed tears are brimming in his eyes and I can almost hear those words he said to me and Dad a few hours ago:

_"Don't want to fight anymore … so tired … just want to rest …"_

And a perverse part of me understands the choice he's trying to make. I'm also tired of this soul destroying life we lead, tired of chasing after things that go bump in the night, chasing after phantom leads that might eventually point us to mom's killer. If I've had enough, how much worse must it be for Dean? Trying to take care of me and Dad, giving and giving, only to hear us … me … talking about him like he's some kind of robot …

For the last year**,** I've been planning a way out. I want a normal life, I want more than anything to know how that feels. So yes, I understand, I understand more than he'll ever know … and god, if there's anyone who deserves rest and peace, it's Dean … but I also realize something else about myself … I'm selfish … and I need my big brother to be there for me, when I need him. I need him more than he needs me.

"I won't let you go**,** Dean … not in a million years! I need you … I need you to fight, I need you to be your stubborn ass self and fight for as long as it takes, for as long as I'm alive … 'cause I can't live without you … you hear me? … I can't!"

I know Dean would never give up on me, he didn't on that mountain, so how am I supposed to just give up on him now? What he's asking of me … it's more than I can ever give. And it hits me, finally, it hits me. I understand how he felt when I tried to give up, tried to let go.

I blink through the tears clouding my vision, watching in horror as Dean's eyes start to roll back, his breath hitching sporadically, the sound of his heartbeat faltering, and my words are filled with panicked rage.

"_Don't you do this to me__**,**__ you selfish bastard … don't!"_

I look around desperately; I need to do something, save him somehow. He's giving up … there's only one thing, I need to play dirty … so I pull out my trump card. If Dean won't fight for himself, I know without a doubt that he'll fight for me. Guilt eats at me for even trying … but I have to do this … I have to find a way to pull him back from the edge. I can't let him die.

"If you give up on me**,** Dean … if you die … so help me god**,** I'll go out there on my own … I'll leave Dad … do you hear me … I. Will. Leave. Him."

The effects of my words are immediate. Dean starts blinking rapidly as he fights to stay conscious, his breaths becoming more shallow and harsh. It's working. It spurs me on.

"I'll be out there all by myself**,** Dean … and I won't care about the consequences. If something evil wants a piece of me, it can have me."

"Smm?"

Panicked, unfocused eyes finally manage to settle on me again.

"No … no, Smmy … need to stay …"

I can see the anguish in each line of his face … his words breaking my heart … but I won't give in.

"What for**,** Dean? You tell me, what for? If you're gone, it won't matter either way … I won't need protection … that's your job, it's always been your job … and if you're not here to do it, then nobody will."

My words are hitting home, because I see the torment they're causing him, I'm forcing his hand, but I don't care … I'm scared … I'm angry … I'm fucking furious.

"Sam … 'm begging you … don't leave … Dad'll protect you. Promise me."

"No Dean, it doesn't work that way … you don't get to tell me what to do, not if you leave me!"

He's scared … breathing harshly through his nose. I lay down my ultimatum.

"I'll only stay if you promise me … promise me that you'll fight."

He nods then, watching me in panic, like I'm going to get up and leave this instant, and I feel my heart break, because I'm lying to his face, guilt tearing at me. But if my lie ensures that Dean fights to stay alive … then I'll live with the consequences.

His face suddenly scrunches in agony.

"Aaah."

Oh shit … he's hurting … he pants as he rides out the waves assaulting his body. Goddamnit, maybe I've pushed too hard. The instruments next to his bed have started beeping in alarm. Shit, shit, shit! I didn't mean to upset him this badly … he needs to calm down. I grip his wrist and he looks at me through misty, tear filled eyes.

"It's okay**,** Dean, I've got you … I'm not leaving if you are going to fight …"

"Don't … don't leave me**,** Sammy…"

"I swear to you**,** Dean, I won't leave, nothing will make me leave … nothing. Just take even breaths, you're okay, you're going to be okay."

The alarms have alerted the night staff, and the Dr DeMarco comes rushing in, followed by Dad and Jim. Dad watches the staff worriedly, moving to the side of my bed.

"What happened?"

I open my mouth, not sure what to say, how to explain … but Dean's pained whisper answers Dad's question.

"… dn …leave … don't leave me**,** Smy …"

Dad gives Jim a strange look before his disbelieving eyes fall on me.

"What did you do? What did you say to him, Sam?"

I don't get a chance to defend myself.

"Did you just threaten your brother with leaving?"

I nod slowly, feeling ashamed under Dad's dark scrutiny. I watch his Adam's apple bobbing in irritation, before he swallows, his voice steady but stern.

"Don't you ever … ever … do that again. Understand?"

He's leaving no room for argument, only stating a fact, but it's the look of disappointment on his face that wedges its way firmly into my heart.

An awkward silence falls over us as we watch DeMarco checking Dean's vitals. I can feel Dad's anger, and I don't even know why he's so mad at me. The staff are rushing around as the doc calls for more urgent tests, demanding quicker lab results, adjusting Dean's medication, but when he finally looks up at us thirty minutes later, he has a tired smile on his face.

"I don't know what to tell you, but Dean seems to have taken a good turn, his stats have improved remarkably. His temperature has come down, his pulse is stronger … and let me tell you I'm surprised to be saying it … but if he carries on like this, he's going to be just fine."

The shock of his statement is reflected on all of our faces. Dean's going to be fine?

"Thank god … oh thank god."

I look at Dad, my mouth still gaping open. It worked? My threats actually worked? He's fighting?

Jim chuckles nervously, shaking his head in amazement. "Just goes to show, we turn to God for help when our foundations are shaking, only to learn that it is God who is shaking them."

Dad swats Jim on the arm, but his face lights up as he starts grinning broadly, probably for the first time in days.

"I swear Jim, one more 'Confucius says' out of you and I'll kick your holy ass."

"Yeah, you and which demon army, old man?"

They chuckle, relief written on both their faces as they clap each other on the backs. Dad finally looks at me, and I can't help but grin with uncontrolled joy. We did it, Dean did it … he's going to be okay. I turn to smile at my unconscious brother, he's finally settled, pulled into drug induced sleep. He still looks like shit, but he's getting better, and that's all that matters to me.

An hour later Dad has fallen asleep in the chair next to my bed, Jim in the chair near the window, but I stay awake. I watch the night staff move in and out of the room, I watch Dean, watch him breathe, watch his chest rise and fall … I have my brother back. And I find peace in the knowledge that he's fighting, fighting for me, if not for himself. My hand is still firmly clamped in his, I'm not letting go.

A few minutes later I watch happily as his eyelids flutter, opening to reveal clear hazel orbs. His temperature is nearly back to normal, but he's on heavy meds. He looks around confused, a sigh evident on his lips when he locks gazes with me.

"Thank god."

He seems strangely relieved to see me.

"Sammy … promise me … you won't ever leave …"

My guilty conscious is going to be the death of me.

"I promise."

He sighs tiredly.

"You ... scared me."

"I know … I'm sorry."

My hand is resting on top of Dean's, fingers threaded through his. He doesn't say anything, doesn't try to pull away, and I'm grateful. I need this connection between us.

He still tries to look at me through heavily lidded eyes, groaning tiredly, but a cheeky smirk starts pulling at his lips as he whispers, "Uh, consciousness … that annoying time … between naps."

I grin, shaking my head. He's been at death's door for the last day and a half, putting me through absolute hell, the jerk. Trust him to be making jokes. But it's a good sign, and I can't help but smile broadly. He raises an eyebrow as he squints to get a better look at me, his eyes full of concern.

"How ya … doing?"

I'm not surprised by the question, he's just being typical Dean, always falling into his role as my guardian with unintentional ease.

"Fine**,** Dean … I wasn't the one flirting with a reaper."

He looks at me in confusion.

"A reaper. Really?"

I nod, knowing I'll explain what happened when he gets some more of his strength back.

"Yeah, but in answer to your question … I've never been better."

The words are truer than he'll ever know, but he just snorts softly in response.

"Yeah right, Sammy … go wipe your mouth**,** dude … there's still a tiny bit … of bullshit left … around your lips."

I chuckle, it hurts damnit.

He smiles at me tiredly, his eye's closing, even though he's fighting it, tightening his hold on my hand. His voice barely a whisper, but filled with pure conviction.

"I didn't let go, Sammy …"

I smile back, love and pride and joy swelling in my chest. He pauses for a second, his words becoming a faint sigh.

"… never will."

I watch as my brother, best friend, protector, slips into restful, healing sleep. And I hate myself for the lie I told him, the lie I'm living. Because I am going to leave. My dreams of going to Stanford are becoming more real … my grades are good, I can get a full scholarship … and I'm going to take it, I'm going to live that dream no matter what … even if it means leaving and hurting my selfless brother. I gently squeeze his hand back, guilt and shame still eating away at my soul.

"I know, Dean … I know."

_**Fin**_


End file.
